


Negan

by Panikos



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Action, Awkwardness, Consensual Sex, F/F, F/M, M/M, Memories of rape, Mentions of Rape, Slow Burn, Triggers, seriously though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2018-08-16 03:26:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 27
Words: 80,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8084893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panikos/pseuds/Panikos
Summary: Evelyne saved Negan six months ago, now she works as his body guard. (Loose term on that one). He enjoys her company more than most, though she's extremely shy. Both have the desire for each other. He is surprisingly patient with her.      I've never read the comics, so just know that this is AU.





	1. Chapter 1

“Now what the fuck is this?” I jump back from the book case, quickly pulling my sleeves down.  
Fuck. Of course. I just wanted a quiet day where I WASN’T stressed out or scared. Or pressured. And this man does all of those things. I was told he never even comes in here. He’s supposed to be Mr. Badass with a bat. He’s smart, so maybe I’m stupid for thinking he wouldn’t like a library. The thought makes my face heat up. He’s already smiling at me. How does he do that? Just smile like every day is so amazing? His moods always change drastically, they always have, but there hasn’t been a single day in which he hasn’t smiled at least once. It’s nerve wracking.   
“Don’t fucking stop on my account, sweetheart. Tryin to get this?” He reaches for the book just next to the one I was actually trying to get.   
But I’d never say that to him. No. The word makes him angry most of the time. Actually ALL of the time. I press myself back against the opposite shelf when he turns to me, the incorrect book in his hand. He’s got these big brown eyes that always seem soft. Somehow. Maybe not soft, but cozy. I’ve always had the worst time looking people in the eyes, but brown eyes like his are easy to stare at. As long as they aren’t looking at me. They always make me squirm when I meet them. So I quickly look away and accept the deep red…..fucking history book he gives me. Sometimes I can look him in the eyes, just because I’ve known him for awhile, but they still make me squirm.   
“Th-th-” SPEAK! “Th-thank-thank yyyyou.” Stutter.   
It’s been my worst enemy since I was a kid. I was….well it’s not a nice story. Long story short, there was a bad experience, and I can’t really be touched without being scared. The zombie apocalypse didn’t help that much. I liked being on my own, but….when I saved Negan’s life, I kind of HAD to come here. I’ve been his body guard for awhile now. He tries DESPERATELY to make conversation, flirt, whatever the fuck. I’m bad at it, and people just…aren’t what I’m good at. I WANT to be good at it, but every time I open my mouth I feel like I’ve said the wrong thing. The worst thing is that I can talk out loud to myself perfectly fine without a stutter.   
“You’re fucking welcome. The fuck are ya doin with that shit anyway? Ain’t gonna do ya any fucking good now.” He leans against the shelf opposite me, Lucille resting on his boot while his hands rest on Lucille.   
“I-I lllllike Reading, sssir.” Sir? Sir. Sure. We’ll go with that. He laughs, and I almost flinch again. Funny I can easily take on a bunch of dead assholes that want to eat me alive. But humans? If they so much as move wrong I’ll flinch. I don’t know why he hired me to guard him. Though I’m sure it has to do with his attraction to the shiny new toy. Not that I’m shiny. I….I’m very flawed.   
“Sir. Ain’t that fucking cute?” Cute. Fuck off. I’m not CUTE. I just look down at the book and regret that I have it in my hands. I hate history books. It’s always felt pointless. “That’s not the fuckin book, is it?” He asks. I slowly trail my eyes back to him while chewing on my cheek nervously. He sighs at me. His smile that always shows his very white teeth off, is now gone. But he doesn’t look angry. Which is a relief. So I very timidly shake my head. “Well why the fuck didn’t you say so? Which the fuck one is it?” He asks, swiping the book from my hands. I quickly cross my arms before he can see them. I don’t ever want him to give me the look he gives Dwight. He hates physical flaws, from what I’ve seen and heard from him. Sure the occasional battle wound is sexy and okay, but something like what I have, or what Dwight has, or even Bell, they’re disgusting.   
“I-I can ggggget-t it.” I defend quietly. He puts the stupid history book back before removing MY book. The one I actually wanted to read. Which is a science fiction book about sex slave trade. Psychology and shit. I like it. But it helps me with some serious crap, too. I can relate to the main character a little bit.   
“Pyat?” He asks. “The fuck is Pyat?” I very carefully take the thick book from his hand. The cover is blue, a lighter blue to represent the main character’s eyes. The pages are, or were, deliberately coated with a silver outline. Silvery white, that is. Like her hair. Now the lining is kind of ruined. It’s nice to finally hold the book again. I haven’t seen it in years. It’s my favourite.   
“Wwwwhat….” I take a breath. “What d-do I hhhhave to d-do for it?” I ask. That’s a pretty good sentence. I’m getting slightly better. I’d steal the book if I weren’t so convinced I’d get caught.   
His eyebrows twitch. It’s a small movement, but I’ve trained myself to catch them. Soon after, his lips twitch. I should not have asked that question. I know what he wants from me, and I’ve been very good at avoiding it. I want him, sure. He’s….I don’t know. Actually I do. He’s a bad boy. Primally, females are attracted to the ‘bad boy’ because in reality, they can take care of them better. They can protect and provide. So on a primal level I understand my attraction. I’m no innocent, my mind wanders all over the place about him. But I’m shy, and inexperienced, and I have that thing people call a past.   
“I could go as far as to say you can suck my dick- ” I cringe away from the thought. Not that I HATE the idea, because I don’t. I just….know I’d be bad at it. The last thing on earth I want to do is lose what I have here. And I have him, as a friend, at least. “But then ya just go and fuckin do shit like that. So why not just….” I hug the book to my chest protectively. Please don’t take it. His boots always made a comforting bump sound. They’re not cowboy boots like most everyone else around. Right now the sound is the only comfort for me. “A kiss.” Fuck. I guess, with him, I should have expected as much. For this book, is it worth it? I haven’t so much as touched a man since I was like sixteen, and I freaked out. Bad. “How 'bout it?” He asks. Slow your breathing. Calm down. This is fine. Everyone makes deals. Everything costs something. I’ve made it six months without having to do anything for anything, yet. But now it’s small. It’s okay.   
“N-Negan.” I blurt, my hand pushing against his chest when he gets just a little too close. I’m so pressed against the shelf behind me that there’s a book digging into my back. I haven’t even touched HIM like this since we met. Not like this.   
“Yes sweetheart?” He asks. The tone of his voice is so low, I honestly didn’t know it could get more gravelly than it was. It’s just a kiss. I can do that. He wouldn’t do anything like that. “You’re shakin.” He comments. Shaking? I frown down at myself. My knuckles are white on the book in my left arm. My right arm, though, is shaking. “You aren’t afraid of little old me are ya?” He asks.   
I flinch when he touches my cheek. I should want this. I do. But all I can see is what happened. I force my eyes to shut before I very slowly lean forward. It’s okay. Just fucking breathe. His lips are….chapped. Chapped, and surrounded with his beard. It sloppily goes around his mouth, all the way up his jawline. The dark brown, possibly black, fur around his mouth is thicker than the rest. As soon as my mouth touches his, I jump back. Pathetic. That was pathetic. But technically is was a kiss.   
“The fuck are you so afraid of?” He mutters. Yes, I’m used to him getting sour at me when I don’t do what he expects of me. Sexually. I gotta breathe.   
“I-I’m ssssor- ”   
“Don’t. And if you think that’s a fuckin kiss you can go back to preschool.” He rips the book from my arm with serious force. I almost fight him, but…well I can’t. I’m me, and I only fight the dead. I feel such loss when the book is taken from me. That thing was my lifeline when I was younger. All I want is to have it in my hands. To reread the pages again. To feel the pain of what happened to her, so I can not feel so alone.   
“Ne-Neg- ”   
“Are you gonna make the deal or not?” He asks. My sleeves are quickly pulled back down my hands once again. I’m scared, but I nod.   
“M-may I……May I….” I growl at myself.   
“You’re cute when you’re angry. Like a little kitten. Come by my room later tonight. I’ll give you the fuckin book if you give me what I want. Got it?” He asks. His room? I’ve never been in there before. Sure I got the grand tour when I got here, and I saw it through the doorway plenty when I escort him places, but I’ve never been IN it. But an order is an order.   
“Yes sir.” Again with the SIR. I’ve been here sic months and I haven’t ever called him that. Fucking hell. Okay BREATHE. You’ll see the book later. Literally. It’s okay. So much for a stress free day. Negan the badass walks out chuckling to himself. Low and in his belly.   
Yes, I want to say yes to him; no, I can’t. There’s a difference in want and can. Three letters and the ability to do so. I’m happy being his guard. We’ve become friends in the last half year. He gets me talking more than anyone else. We go out on runs together and laugh a lot. I just don’t talk much. The conversations we have are sarcastic, blunt, and short. He tried very hard to get me to go into more depth, but it’s just not me. And he’s so interesting in and of himself. A real character that can grip you in seconds.


	2. Payment

He’s awful. He’s a horrible person. It wasn’t my choice to come here, but now I’d never want to leave. He takes groups of people, and forces them to work for him. Meaning get him ‘shit’. Half of theirs, to be exact. And if they try to get away or retaliate, he beats the holy living shit out of them. Or as he likes to call it, 'the holy fucking fuckity fuck' out of them. Punishes them. Usually with his bestie Lucille. He’s always got the male Harley Quinn thing going on. The hyper, and the jokative, and the fun loving evil side. Honestly when I first saw him so animated the first though in my head was Harley Quinn. He even has the bat.   
But he’s also got this…..calm side. Not too many people see it, but it’s not exactly RARE. Out on runs, when it’s just him in the car driving, he’ll stare ahead like he’s thinking really hard about something. Daydreaming about a world that no longer exists. You could tell he has a brain in his head. There’s no doubt about it. He’s smart. He has this permanent resting smile on his face. More like a smirk. And it’s a deadly smirk, sure, but when he’s calm, it’s endearing. I believe that’s the word I’m looking for. Endearing. He can kick back with a book, wearing glasses of all things. It looks very natural and domestic. We’ve actually often read together when we’re on overnight runs. Well, we read different books, but in the same vicinity.   
With me, he’s always been kind of all over the place. At first, he treated me like everyone else. Sort of. When I first met him, he was near dead in a town full of the dead. I had to carry him, yes off the ground, to a nearby pet store. It was empty, luckily. We wound up staying there two days while he slept off his injuries. Apparently his gaggle of idiots had all panicked and tried to kill him. They’d later tried to do the same to me, which is when I killed them. A couple, anyways. Negan was kind to me then. Because he knew I had his life. But as soon as we were back at his Sanctuary, as he likes to call it, the defenses were up and he was the badass. But he’s pretty laid back when he isn’t putting on a show. It’s why we became fast friends.  
But he wants me to be….HIS. It’s why he won’t let up. And why I’m super shy around him. There’s attraction, a lot of it, but I’m terrified of what he’ll think when he see’s me. And then there’s just the me part where I can’t take having eyes on me for too long before I start to lose my mind. Abuse victims are like that. They’re hyper aware of everything around them, but are still easily startled. They’re afraid of contact unless they’re rare and they are NOT, in fact, afraid of contact. I’m not rare. I don’t like crowded places, or prying eyes. Paranoia sets in very quickly. Anxiety and panic attacks are frequent. I’ve kept mine hidden. No one, and I mean that, has seen one, yet. Though I’ve come very close to Negan catching me before. He’s determined to find out my secrets. 

*Knock knock* Great. Now I’ve done it.   
Dinner was quick. Very quick. All day was too fast, in fact. I got in some knife practice, along with unneeded sword skills. I’m the champion, of course. I’ll always be the champion. It’s why I’m Negan’s body guard. I DID get slapped across the face by some girl that thought I was someone else. She apologized a lot. Me, I just….tried really hard not to freak out about it. All I see is hands, and switches, floggers. Nothing good. Only pain. And punishment. And I can’t take the memories. So I basically had another attack today in my room. A big one. I’m exhausted, physically. Mentally I’m bouncing off the walls because I’m now outside Negan’s doors.   
“Come in.” He calls out.  
This is the doors to his office. Not his bedroom. Thank fuck for that. I couldn’t do this if there were a bed in the room. I can FEEL my heart beat in the soles of my feet. Negan’s sitting at the old run down metal desk he stole from an office building a few cities away. It’s pretty good condition, and it’s magnetic. He’s reading the book. When he looks up at me, just as I’m closing the doors behind me, he looks a little weird. Not usual for him to see me and NOT smile. Not that I’m being arrogant and saying I deserve the smile, I’m just saying he smiles when he see’s me. Whether it’s to tease me, or because he’s genuinely happy.   
“Negan.” I greet quietly. My book. The one thing aside from my machete and throwing knives, I’d probably die for. Kiss for, in this case.   
“Have a seat, Doll.” He gestures to one of the chairs across the desk from him. Though the’re aren’t facing him, the’re facing each other. Weird, but okay. I slowly sit down in one of the cushion-y, surprisingly comfortable, rolling chairs in front of his desk. They don’t swivel around like his, and they’re broken, but they roll. As soon as I’m in the chair, he gets up and comes to sit in the chair in front of me. Oh great. “I gotta couple fucking questions for you.” He states, rather bluntly. Not abnormal for him, but I nod anyways. He strokes the black, possibly dark brown, hair at his chin before proceeding. His glasses have been removed, but he’s looking down at the book in his hands. “Why do you want this book so fuckin bad?” He asks. Easy.   
“Because….b-because…” I let out a soft sigh of discomfort. “I hhhhave…..b-been through the same.” I answer. Negan see’s through my lies, so I can’t lie to him. The last time I tried, he took away my meals for three days. I don’t lie to him. But if I can help it, I try to hide. He narrows his eyes at me.   
“You mean you were a fuckin whore?” He asks. I flinch at the term. I hate the term.   
“She’s not a whore.” I growl before backing down instantly. My legs find their way into the chair with me, my chin resting on my knees.   
“Sex slave, then. That what you want me to fuckin call it? Cause I can’t imagine my favourite woman bein hurt the fuck like that. So you better fucking get talkin.” He orders. His voice, which has dropped to a dangerously low angry tone, doesn’t leave room for argument. I may be his guard, but if he so much as raised a hand to high five me, I’d buckle. “What the fuck happened to you?” He asks. My chest is tight. This isn’t a great conversation to be having.   
“I was…..I-I-I wwwwwas…..w-was…..ssssssold.” I answer quietly. Very quietly. “Just like her. Only…..I-I was…..eight.” He shifts in his seat.   
“Sold for sex? Or sold to a man?” He asks. I just nod. “A man bought you for sex? Did he fuckin keep you?” Again, I nod.   
“A-all hhhhhe wan-wante-wanted wwwas……thhhhe……youth.” I take a breath, shoving a hand into my hair to hide a little bit more. “I was with him until I was……ten. Then he sold me to an-another man.” I don’t want to talk about this anymore.   
“When’d you get out? HOW the fuck did you get out?” He asks.   
“The d-dead. Thhhhhey’d made they’re wwwwway int-into the home I was being kept in. I lived in? I am not sure anymore. But I DO know I had seen many movies about it, sssso I was….almost prepared.” I explain. Much easier to explain than my…past.   
“That what you’re so fuckin afraid of? Gettin raped?” He asks. My turn to shift awkwardly.   
“I-I’m…..afraid…..” I don’t tell him I’m afraid of anything. He never…ever….heard those words from me. “Of what she’s a-afraid of.” I nod to the book. “I-I’m…” He sets it aside before rolling the chair he’s in closer to me.   
“Sit like a normal fuckin person.” He orders. Not up for debate. There’s barely room for my legs to fit between our chairs, but they manage to weasel in between his. This is much closer than I’m used to. “You aren’t that fuckin pathetic fucking girl. But I will not fucking rape you. Underfuckingstand?” He asks. I feel exposed sitting like this. Like somehow having my chest and stomach and everything lower than my chin exposed to him, he’ll somehow see me as weaker than I am. Or something. As weak as I feel. There’s a very stern, very…..sincere look in his eyes when he asks me that question. He looks like he really means it. I believe him. I do. So I nod. But his nose twitches at me. The sign of true irritation. “Answer.” He growls. I shrink lower in my seat.   
“Y-yes.” I answer quietly. I hate my voice. His eyes narrow, and for some stupid reason I know what he wants. “Ye-yes…..sssssir.” His shoulders relax a bit, and somehow in the last half a second, his mood shifts. He’s back to smiles. He gives everyone around him whiplash because of his weird moods. At least it feels like the tension in the room is released a little. “N-Ne-Negan?“ I ask VERY quietly. All he does is nod me on. "P-plea-please d-don’t….d-don’t t-tell-te-ell an-anyone-anyone?” his face, more his eyes, soften in the slightest.   
“Wasn’t fuckin planning on blabbin that shit to Sanctuary. You still want your book?” he asks. I look over at it, sitting halfway open on his desk. My answer is a nod. This earns a click of his tongue. A sign he’s thinking of a plan of some kind.   
“I-I can…..d-do…” I sign at myself. This is a very strange day. I’m unsure if I like it or not. “I-I can…”   
“How the fuck long has it been since you got out? Two years? Think that’s about as long as it’s been. Maybe fucking three. You ain’t fucking over the shit yet. I’m cruel to everyone else cause fucking I need to make em underfuckingstand that I’m in fucking charge. You already fuckin know that. So I’m gonna tell you you don’t fucking have to. We can figure out another deal. At least now I know you weren’t rejecting me cause I’m fuckin ugly.” He mutters. My cheeks heat up before I roll my eyes.   
“I-I can-” I honestly hate my stupid stutter right now. “I-it wwwwwas…a l-long t-time ago.” All Negan does is nod at me. But he DOES see me differently now. There’s no changing that back. Here I am, sitting in a chair with my legs between his. And I want to kiss him. I do. I’m just…afraid to, I suppose. “I-I want thhe d-deal.” It’ll help, anyways. Getting out there, doing new things. But as long as he doesn’t…see me.   
“Fine. That’s your fuckin business, Sweetheart.” He shrugs. “Well go ahead then.”   
Wait right now? You’re still sitting down. It doesn’t matter. I very awkwardly stand up in front of him. Being this close most definitely is awkward for me. It’s like I’m on display, and I’m sure I am. He looks downright amused when I lean down over him. He’s lounging back in the chair now with his arms draped lazily over the arms. My feet almost fall out from under me, so I have to grab the back of his chair. Now we’re mere inches from each other. I can feel his breath, and it smells like crap. Sure he brushes his teeth, but the apocalypse sort of hinders GOOD breath.   
“Mm.” I’m not this pathetic. Whimpering. Ugh. I press my lips to his still very chapped mouth. It’s very strange, and I’m not sure why he wants me to do this. But I know what kissing it. I know what it CAN be. My eyes are squeezed shut so tight I can see spots behind my lids. I flinch a little too hard when his hand finds my hip. Hands. All over. No. He isn’t hurting me. Just touching. It’s okay. His mouth, eventually, moves mine. He pulls away very slightly before pressing against me harder and what feels like pinching my upper lip between his. Maybe a second later he’s opened his mouth and begun tracing my bottom lip with his tongue. It’s a strange sensation. Only when he presses his tongue between my lips do I understand what he wants.   
I’m unsure how to do this. It’s very strange with him. Kissing. No one was ever this gentle with me before. I was usually left with a split lip or worse. I never thought Negan would be this kind while kissing. His tongue tries coaxing mine, but I’m…not sure what to do about that. He’s demanding that I respond to him. He’s very skilled, to say the least. His beard tickles and burns my cheeks at the same time. Yet it isn’t a bad feeling. None of this is bad, but it DOES freak me out. And when his hands grab at my ass, I stupidly jump back.   
“Book’s all yours.” He grins. I gotta breathe for a second first. That was simultaneously easier and harder than it should have been. I bring my legs to my chest again and hug them. Tight. Do not let yourself to feel bad about that. It’s okay. He’s just watching me. It’s like he’s waiting for something. Whether it’s for me to break, or jump on him, I don’t know. But neither will happen. Once my nerves are sufficiently calmed, I reach for the book. “We’re goin on a fucking run tomorrow. You’re with me. But it’s not like I gotta tell YOU that.” He mutters to himself.   
“Okay.” I nod. So I’ll need to grab my bag. I have everything else I need on me. “Where?” I ask quietly.   
His desk is covered in the normal things. A few papers with weird writing on them. A couple of books that I still find interesting. Negan has his own personal library in his office. Three bookshelves, perfectly preserved somehow, filled with all kinds of different books. He usually has three on his desk. There’s also maps. Tons of maps. Alexandria, the new place he recently found. I assume that’s where he’s taking me tomorrow. Not taking me. where we’re going. I heard a lot about them so far. But more, I saw the devastation they left behind when the attacked one of the compounds. So many dead. I hate them and I haven’t so much as met them.   
“New place an hour away. Put the fear of Negan into the fuckers, goin for the first pickup. Want you on me at all times. Don’t leave my side.” He orders firmly. Sounds like a plan.   
“Y-yesssssir.” FUCK ME I hate my stutter. But the plan sounds…weird and good. “They….b-bad? Lllike….th-the wwwwol-wolllves?” I ask. I remember running into them. They’re…scary. But they traded with us, so we didn’t really care. Well, I wasn’t here for that. I was and wasn’t. I didn’t like them. If anything, I hid behind Negan as soon as I saw them. He found that extremely funny, but he didn’t mind it much.   
“Nothin like them, sweetheart. Got nothin to fucking worry about. Bunch o goody fuckin two shoes if anything. Feel free to kill them if they provoke you.” He offers. Goody? They slaughtered your people, and you’re calling them GOOD?   
“D-definitely.” No way I’m letting anyone else hurt me. Killing is something I REALLY had to try hard to get in to, but when I finally got the courage up to kill people it became easier. Especially people that wanted to hurt me. But people like Negan and his men are the kind I have trouble standing up to. I can’t kill them. Killing them would be easy, granted, but I can’t….STAND UP for myself. I never learned how.   
“You stayin tonight or do I gotta wake you the fuck up tomorrow?” He asks. Oh that. Hah. ONE time I overslept I never lived it down. Dwight thought I’d died in my sleep I was so gone. I smile and shrug.  
“I’ll…..” Good question, actually. I’m really tired. One attack, on top of kissing him? I’m very drained. “Ssset a-an allllllarm.” We have the wind up ones. Or I do, at least. I’ve had it since I was five. No electricity needed, and the timer sets up to twenty four hours. “Wwwwill…..” I sigh at the question. “Th-they…..wwwwwon’t…….” Negan narrows his eyes at me. “Ffffight b-back?” I ask. There’s stories about past groups trying to fight back against the pickups. Bad stories. He grins at me. Sometimes it’s very unsettling when he does that toothy grin. But right now it’s a huge comfort. He’s being arrogant enough, he’s sure of himself.   
“You can handle it.” That’s reassuring. So much so that I might bite through my cheek. My head falls back against the chair lazily. Sleep is calling to me, I should just go to bed. Tomorrow will be long, and probably very…eventful. But if he says I can do it, I probably can. I’m so comfortable in this chair. Don’t wanna get up.   
“Can I…ssssleep here?” I ask. I would if he let me. I’ve slept in worse places. I slept in a weird filing thing once. Have to knock it over so it was possible to lay in it, but that wasn’t bad. Also, I slept on a chimney top because the house was surrounded by the dead. And I was paranoid they’d find a way to the roof.   
“What right fuckin there?” He asks. He’s always found it funny that I sleep in strange places. I actually don’t like beds. I mean I DO, I sleep in one mostly every night, but I prefer being confined. It feels safer. I stayed in a coffin a few months last winter, just because it was so warm and comfortable. I even got to stay in the same place for awhile, and that was great. There was a bunker full of food underground a mile from where I found the coffin. I loved it there. “Go ahead. Could use someone to stare at while I work.” He answers. With that, his chair creaks as he gets up. It takes maybe a minute before I’m asleep.


	3. Alexandria

“No!” I shriek. Please stop. But the hands from my nightmare aren’t even….here.  
Im in the truck, leaning against Negan as he drives. Yes, I’ve fallen asleep like this before. No, he’s never cared. We have a really weird friendship. Honestly. Me laying across the front seat with my head on his thigh? I’m pretty sure it gives him some for of confidence boost. The first time I did it was the first time I fell asleep near him. He moved me so I was across his lap. Sort of a….push in the direction he wanted me to go in. But I said no when I woke up and we sort of kept the tradition going. But I never woke up this morning.   
“Jesus fucking Christ calm the fuck down.” He orders. I awkwardly look up at him while clutching my machete. It’s the one thing no one can take from me. I’m a light sleeper, but when I’m really out, nothing can wake me up unless they touch me. He looks happy, at least. That’s a good sign. Mornings aren’t his thing. They never have been. “We’re almost there. You should get ready. If you’re hiding the fuck behind me this time….” He shrugs. “I’ll send you back to the truck.” I sit up and look around. Forest-y. I like it. “Got it?” he asks. I just nod. “You gonna go fucking quiet again?” He asks. Again, I nod.   
I don’t talk much when we aren’t alone. Or at all. But I talk less when we’re alone. When we go one runs, I find it easier to be silent, anyways, so I go ‘quiet’ as he likes to call it. In the last six months, he’s sort of adopted this method from me. We have a really weird silent language. Not signing, because that’s fucking WAY over my head, but we can communicate. It’s actually funny. Some of the other men have it, too. But most everyone thinks it’s weird as fuck. I don’t blame them. I still have a hard time not laughing when I make a gesture so weirdly out of place and he understands it perfectly. Or vice versa. I wind up giggling a lot.   
“Their leader’s name is Rick. He’s a prick, but he won’t do anything fucking stupid. They have a few men, more than a fucking few, just in case that’s something you want to know.” That’s nice of him. Really, it is. That’s awesome of him to do. “Didn’t bother learnin many names last time. I don’t give a rat’s fuckin ass. Speakin of fucking names, What’s yours?” Oh wow. Yeah I was wondering when that question would come. I smile, leaning my cheeks against my hand.   
“Evelyn. B0but….I-i wwwwwant-wanted it t-t-to be C-clark.” I answer. He cocks an eyebrow at me.   
“Clark. Don’t fuckin fit. Not the fuck at all. Claire maybe, but not Clark.” He offers. Claire. That’s not half bad, I supposed. “Why change it? I like Evelyn.” He asks.   
“Nnnnot……b-brave en-enough.” Evelyn is for someone strong. That’s just the truth. I’m not brave OR strong.   
“Says the fucking ninja. You’re fuckin brave enough. Evelyn.” Weirdo. I’m not, but whatever you say. “Here we go.” He practically sings it.   
We pull up to a……a very big gate. Made out of that….wavey metal stuff. But it looks badass as hell. I never thought for a second he was being literal when he said they had a giant wall around them. Made out of wood and metal. It’s surprisingly neat, too. But the neat facade is just that, a facade. Getting closer, I can see the blood and guts from hopefully just the dead. But who knows, it could be many more than just the dead. They could have heads on spikes like I’ve seen many others do. But they don’t. Negan turns the truck off.   
“You comin?” He asks. I nod. ALways trying new things. But on a more serious note, I’d just about give my life for Negan about now. Letting him go in there alone isn’t something I’m ready for.  
So we all unload from our vehicles. Of which there are five today, because Negan wants to prove a point. All are heavily loaded with people fully armed. All men. Negan has this thing with women. There are only a few he lets on runs. Most travel between the groups of people for the more social aspect of the world, but the men are brute force. Me and maybe seven others are warriors or guards. The men all have mostly guns, but every single one has to have a blade. It’s required if you want to be one of the big guys. The ones that go out on runs, or to things like this.

“Little pigs! Little pigs! Open your door!” Negan shouts. Of course. Big bad wolf. I clutch my machete tightly in my right hand while my left hand stays clenched in a fist. “Don’t make me huff and puff!” He warns. I cover my mouth so I don’t giggle. His sense of humor is very….strange. But it’s good to ease the tension. 

Someone finally moves the stupid gate. By moves, I mean they pull it to the side like a sliding glass door. Fuck if that’s not awesome. I respect the wall. The man behind it is…strange. They all are, in fact. There’s probably a group of six standing there. A man with longer hair, nearly to his shoulders. It’s combed back. He has a very dirty look on his face. Most of them do, actually. There’s three men. All standing by each other. With the men is a child, or just a shorter man, and two women.   
“About fuckin time. We’re here for your shit. Don’t try hidin it, cause we’re GONNA fuckin find it. My boys here are gonna kindly do a toss up. If you fight back we will fucking punish you. Everyone underfuckingstand?” All the men puff their chests out. Like that’s going to help them. I won’t be of much use here. I have no confidence when it comes to people. Their leader, I know it’s him because everyone else is standing a slight fraction of space behind him, looks pissed. Very pissed. “Get their shit!” Negan orders.   
With that, all the men behind us walk in through the gate. They quickly spread out, and his is when I realize that this place has real homes. Houses. CLEAN houses. There’s no dead walking around. And there are a lot of people. Children. They all look clean, instead of the grimy survivors I’m so used to finding. Of course we shower at the Sanctuary, but seeing people that are clean is very strange indeed. The woman, the taller of the two, looks to be sick. Maybe ill. Her colour is off. Her and one of the men are holding hands. The other two men are glaring. One has a crossbow on his shoulder. I remember finding one of those arrows in the eye of a man that used to help us on runs. You are responsible for him dying.   
“Come on, doll. We’re gonna fuckin show em who the king really is.” It’s out of the corner of my eye, but Negan’s smile is bright.   
It makes the leader of the other group shift in his place. He hates this. He should. He deserves to. I follow Negan closely as he strolls into the gates, Lucille on his shoulder. He’s always had a saunter. It’s a scary walk that says he’s all power, no fear. Nothing will knock him off his throne. He’s in charge. HE’s putting on more of a show here, though, than normal. Probably to show them he really doesn’t care. I feel clumsy next to him, but I know I’m not. I don’t fall often. I just feel like I’ve forgotten how to walk.   
I nudge Lucille carefully with my machete, which he helped me name. I call him Granger. He’s saved my life a lot, a d I make sure to show him respect. I clean him and sharpen him, and make sure that his handle doesn’t fly off. It’s in amazing condition considering just how long I’ve had him. But I make sure my knives are handled. I make sure they’re always okay. I don’t mistreat them. I’ve always thought of them as having real meaning. Taking care of them is one thing that I feel I HAVE to do. It’s wrong if I don’t.   
“We’re going to check a couple houses. Probably shake them the fuck down if they fucking fight. I guarantee big fucking red will.” I nod when he looks sideways at me. Houses. Easy enough. I hope. “You gotta fucking problem with big guys?” HE asks, seemingly out of the blue. I frown at him. Big guys, yes. All guys. Most all guys. Not you, or most of the guys back at the Sanctuary. Not in that way. I shrug, scrunching up my nose as if to say, yes and no. He pounds on the first white door we come across with the handle of Lucille. “Open the fuck up!” He smiles at me with the same cocky grin on his face. “Evelyne. Can’t call ya Eve. Too fucking used.” He mutters. It will always feels weird to be looked at the way he looks at me. It’s honestly very heated. If only he knew what he was imagining wasn’t that great.   
“The fucknut do you want?” I flinch back into the railing on the porch.   
I understand why Negan asked me that question now. Fully understand. This man is huge. He’s maybe an inch or two taller than Negan, and sure as hell built. He could kill you with a look. It’s like he’s already trying to kill Negan with just his eyes. Holy hell. I’d never have a chance against him. He’s like…….Ivan. At that, I nearly scream. No. Hold it together. I look at Negan when the man’s eyes skim over me. Negan looks calm. Negan looks like he has his shit together. I should, too.   
“We’re here for your shit.” He says pleasantly. He winks at me before shoving his way past the big man. I follow him closely, going as far as nearly hugging my body to his to hide. But I don’t. I’m at least a few inches from him. The only time I’m not staring at Negan’s back is when I have to slip through the door. The man never moves apart from making a fist. Tight fist. I stare at the white knuckles while my heart races. I wouldn’t even fight. He’d just be able to kill me if he wanted. Or worse.   
“The shit you get is with Rick. My shit is mine.” His place is sparce. Not that I expected too much, honestly. I just…..sort of thought there’d be more, I guess. There’s furniture and even a television, but nothing more than that. Nothing on the walls, no books, no movies. I have more in my room at the Sanctuary. This is just the living space, though.   
“First off, I do whatever the fuck I want, whenever the fuck I want. You fuckers ain’t hidin your shit from us.” Is there going to be a second reason in there? We make our way through the living room through another white door. This leads to a bedroom that’s considerably messier than the other room. The bed isn’t yet made, and I’m honestly beginning to think he just got up because of us. Negan has no problem waltzing over to t e bed with a big smile on his face. “Doll, you can go to the kitchen for me. If he’s hiding anything more than this weeks fucking rations, fucking tell me so I can bash his fucking head in.” Doll is the other name he uses for me.  
I almost don’t respond. It takes a few seconds for me to comprehend what he says. Go into another room alone? with that man in the house? How am I supposed to do that? When Negan’s eyes meet mine, they’re full of 'don’t argue with me’, so I just nod and tighten my grip on Granger. Stay calm. What if the other man comes in and see’s me? What if he hurts me? Like the others. The only reason I’ve stayed alive so long is by avoiding other humans. Living humans. I’ve killed a few before, but those were mostly women, and the men I’ve killed were shooting, not using their hands. Even then my hands shook.   
The kitchen is clean. There’s a cup. It’s a white mug. That’s a nice mug you have there, good sir that doesn’t want to hurt me at all. He won’t hurt me. I quickly, with one hand, start opening cabinets. The rations of a week are pretty good. He should have half a box of oatmeal, probably some meat or something, and other food items. Just sort of go by eye on my part. There’s not much in the cabinets. Two white plates, a few cups that look much too clean for their place in the world, and a box of granola bars. Half empty.   
I turn, freezing for a moment when the man is standing in the door to the kitchen. It connects with the wall to the living room, and the bedroom is just to the left once you walk out. I assume the man is there because he wants to watch us both. My grip tightens, but I start to riffle through the droors below the counter. Nothing but silverware in one droor. The next has a couple packets of something. When I look closer, and I HAVE to look closer, I see they’re kool aid, and decide against being a jerk. I go for the next droor, freezing when I see a bottle of brownish golden liquid in a clear bottle. Actually two. And they’re good sized. If it’s liquor like I think it is, he’s going to lose it.   
“Don’t touch.” I jump when he speaks. Nearly out of my skin. “That’s MINE.” He growls. We don’t have to make eye contact for me to know he’s looking me over. I’m at a loss for what to do. I’m sort of frozen in place. “You one of his whores?” I flinch at the word. Whore. I’m not whore. I’m not a whore. Suddenly there’s an ache that hasn’t been felt in a long time. It’s all I want right now. I’m not a whore. I’m not a whore. I’m certainly not Negan’s whore.   
“Find anything, Doll?” His voice is a comfort, but it still makes me flinch back into the table behind me. It’s simple wood, placed in the center of the room we’re in, set in between two counters on opposing walls. I almost fall over it, but catch myself at the last second. “What the fuck did you do? Did he fucking lay a hand on you? What the fuck part of my last message didn’t you understand? You touch my people, you fucking pay with your fucking life.” I shake my head at Negan. He’s still looking at me every few seconds. Checking if I’m alright. He does this often when I’m like this. Friends watch friends backs. “You only say that if you’re fucking sure.” He warns me. I swallow hard and drop my gaze to the floor. This isn’t what I should be doing. I don’t even belong here. I can’t handle myself. “Oh what the fuck do we have here?” Liquid always sounds strange when it’s splashing around in glass.   
“That’s mine- ”   
“This is some good fucking shit. It’s a little fucking selfish to keep it all to your fucking self don’t you think, carrot top?” It’s only now that I realize that yes, the man has very orangey red hair. It’s very curly, but in all honesty, the way it’s sitting on his head makes him look like an action figure. “Lynne.” I look at Negan again, seeing him preparing to toss one of the bottles to me. I catch it easily enough. “Take that back to the fucking truck. Wait for me there.” He orders. Great. I’ve been sidelined. I blink at him a few times before putting my chin to the left. He tilts his head at me like he’s saying 'too bad’. My complaint was 'what about the next house?’. I honestly don’t get how he understands what I’m saying, but it’s great he does. I huff before nodding and slowly moving towards them. Since they’re both in the door.   
“That’s MY giggle juice.” The man growls. I freeze when he grabs my arm, looking at Negan for what to do. This guy could do anything. “I pried it from the claws o- ”   
“You mistake me for someone that gives a flying fuck. Let her the FUCK go. Or I’ll let her befuckinghead you.” Negan warns. Lucille barely misses my nose when he swings it up to point it at the man he’s referring to as Carrot Top.   
The next few seconds feel like forever, and my confidence is quickly slipping away. Eventually Carrot top lets me go and I make my way to the front door as quickly as possible. I don’t make it more than a few steps before I hear a crack and a cry of pain. Due payment or whatever. Punishing the guy for not only touching me, but for keeping alcohol from him. There’s really no defense for it. I hate the stuff. But we use it in the infirmary. Sometimes Negan keeps some for himself. HE needs it, and it’s not like I’ll complain about it.   
I lean against the railing in front of the house for a moment. The fresh air is nice to breathe. It helps with the anxiety and panic that are bubbling up in me. Trying to take over. There are many other men in other houses on this street. This place is a fucking joke waiting to happen. Every house is perfect, every house is in a straight line with a perfect yard, and every house seems to have someone in it. There are whole families here. And by that, I mean a parent and a child. I think I even see two parents with a child on the next street over. Everyone sort of seems to be out in their yards. Their afraid of us.   
“I thought I fucking said to wait in the fucking truck.” I flinch again, but shrug in response. “When I tell you to do something I fucking expect you to do it.” Okay. Yeah. He’s right. I close my eyes for a moment to gather myself. I need the air. It’s weird to tell him that. But I turn back towards him and wave a hand through the air before inhaling really deeply. “You can breathe air in the fucking truck.” He argues. To which I respond by pulling a fist full of hair. “Alright I don’t fucking get that one. Just go the fuck back to the fucking truck and wait for me.” He orders. Ugh fine. I’m tired of this conversation anyways. A couple of my gestures are a bit far fetched I guess.   
I take the bottle and Granger and start marching towards the stupid truck.


	4. Panic

"I hate sitting around doing fucking nothing. It's boring. There's no point in me going with him on these fucking outings." I mutter to myself.  
I get being on the runs to places with the dead, But there's no fucking dead here. Not fucking one. It's barren to the dead. They have fucking snipers here. The're covered. I don't need this shit. IT's embarrassing to hide behind Negan. Not that he REALLY minds it. He likes having people depends on him. He likes them NEEDING him. Makes him feel powerful. I grab the back end of the truck and let out a pathetic whiny breath.  
"IT's okay. They're dead. They're dead. You killed them. You're safe. He's safe." He IS safe. Negan represents safety for me. "They can't hurt you anymore." I whisper to myself. I'm safe. That man won't touch me again. I swear it felt like if I moved, he'd turn into Ivan again. Drag me to the bedroom, or shove me against the counter top. My ass hurts thinking about it. I rub my wrists when they begin to ache. I won't have an attack here. The least I could do is hold it off until we get back. The longest I've been able to hold my panic inside me is an hour, maybe two. That should be about the time it takes for us to get back. "Fucking breathe. You're safe."  
The words don't mean a lot. But they DO remind me that I'm safe. No one here can hurt me. Negan probably wouldn't let that kind of thing happen again. Say what you want about him being evil, but he gives a shit about me and his people. I've seen how losing one of us can effect him. He's defended his men to the last breath before. I've seen him come back to the sanctuary and toss his guts after losing one of his men to the dead. He spent awhile alone before sending for his third wife. She came out of that room pretty messed up. She's his whipping girl or whatever. She has a pain kink.  
Negan's described what all five of them do for him. That he never does any of it if they aren't okay with it. One is for simple sex. It's what he wanted when he got her. She's there for the basic stuff. Just nice and easy sex. Number two was for his more....carnal needs? I guess. When wife one didn't want to have super rough sex, that's where wife two comes in. Three basically feeds him. It's weird. Three and four are basically the same. They're there for him when he wants something. And five is for his more dominant and violent side. I guess. I don't even know why he told me. I guess I sort of asked him. When I saw bruises on her wrist I was about to leave the sanctuary to get away from him. But he stopped me, and then that conversation happened.  
"Nice ass." I stand up straight, gripping my machete much tighter than before.  
The voice is rough, very rough. The man is....not one of ours, though he would fit right in. He's wearing a blackish, maybe a very dark green tee shirt turned tank top. The sleeves have been ripped or cut off. He's the guy that had the crossbow. Still does, only now it's pointed at the ground. Almost tempting itself to point at me. Other than that, he's wearing tight jeans with a very big hunting knife on his hip. And a gun, for good measure. His hair is long, it even falls into his eyes. He's the only person here that looks like he doesn't shower.  
"You ain't like them." That's all he says before...fucking walking away. Weirdo. Yes, I know I'm not like them. I laugh a little before sighing. It's okay. Everything is safe. Everything. is okay again. Panic attack averted for now.  
"Fucking weirdo." I mutter.  
"That one- " I gasp, inhumanly, when Negan pops up just next to me.  
"Fuck." I breathe out, relaxing just a bit when I realize it's him. And my reaction makes him grin. It always has. "Mmm." I lean down and grab my thighs when the panic rises again. Fuck you and your goddamn scare tactics you motherfucker.  
"That's Daryl. He's a fuckin weird one. You gonna fucking live?" He asks. I lurch forward when he touches my back, putting him so he's in front of me. The smile vanishes when I do this, but my sight is blurred by tears. FUCK.  
"Fuck." I sink down to the ground and bring my legs to my face. Breathe. Don't let this hit you now. You aren't supposed to let this hit you now. You're supposed to wait until you get back so you can hide.  
"Hey, fucking calm the fuck down. I told you I won't fucking hurt you. What the fuck is wrong?" He asks. Oh shit his men are coming now. THEY can't see this, either. That's something I won't allow. I suck in my breath and wipe my cheeks dry.  
"Fine. I-I'mmmmm fine." Negan helps me stand up with a weird look on his face. "I-I'm ssorry." The truck door slams behind me. This is something that can NOT happen here. I sink down in the seat so no one can see me outside. I'm a small person, so I fit fine. Calm down. Calm down. You need to calm down. Negan gets in the driver's side as a few men climb in the back. The others are all loading the truck they brought. It's up by the.....the thing that hold the food. The.....thing. I don't remember.  
"You don't fucking look fine. What the fuck?" He asks. I'm covering my face so he won't see me crying. Not that I'm really hiding them well. My palms are smashed into my eyes. It's okay. I can't breathe. It feels like i might die if I don't get any real air through my lungs. They can't touch me. "Fucking fuck, calm down, Doll. What the fuck is going on?" He asks. Come on, answer him or he won't leave you alone.  
"Panic attack." I answer quietly.  
Breathe, man. You need to breathe. It's okay. They aren't hurting you. They can't touch you. None of them can. No one here will either. Negan wouldn't let that happen. Ever. You're safe. Stop panicking. It's not okay. Not in front of Negan. He'll see you as weak. You ARE weak. You're pathetic. Completely pathetic. It's sad how stupid you are. It's been three years and here you are, reduced to a pathetic little shit sitting in a truck next to a man that probably wants to drop you now. Pathetic.  
"You gonna fucking live?" He asks. I wipe my eyes and nod. Yup. I'm fine. "The fuck is a panic attack and why the fuck did you just have one?" He asks, starting up his truck. I sit up a little and force myself to relax.  
"You sssscared m-me." I answer. "Sssso d-did.....th-the m-man." He grabbed me. What if he'd done worse.  
"I've scared the fuck out of you before. What the fuck cause the fucking attack? Has that fucking happened before?" He asks. I want to lie to him. I really really want to lie to him. Will he see through it if I do? I HAVE to try this time. I can't have him knowing how pathetic I am. So I shake my head. Then I cringe and nod.  
"Fffew times. N-not...not in awhile. I-I'm ssssorry sssir." That should be a good enough explanation. I hope it is, anyways. It's not a lie. I'm not lying. This is great, I'm not lying. I hate the idea of lying to him.  
"You fucking should be. You fucking freaked me the fuck out. Are you gonna be okay?" He asks.  
"Y-you're......nnnnot....m-mad?" I ask quietly. I almost start crying again, but I manage to hold it back.  
"At you? For fucking getting scared? After what you told me last night? No. I'm not fucking mad at you." He answers. Good. Holy shit. I can breathe again. I thought I'd fucking die if he was mad at me. I'm extremely lucky he's not. It's okay. I'm safe for now, I think.  
"Thank you." I wipe my eyes for hopefully the last time. I haven't cried in awhile. Probably a month. But I had an attack yesterday. Then a week before that. It's been getting a lot better. Before that it was nearly a month and a half. That's the record.

"We're going straight the fuck home. You and me. The men are going out on a run, fucking scouting for whatever the fuck." I straighten in my seat, looking over at him.  
Lucille is perched against his right thigh under the dash of the car. He keeps his eyes on the road for most of the drive. He's good at that. The whole, zoning out thing. But he only ever does it when we're alone. When he's driving it's kind of good to watch. He's awesome all the time. Terrifying most of the time, though. But he's always attractive to me. In the rare moments in which he's zones out, I find him interesting to watch. I mean obviously he relaxes. It just took him a long time to show me that side of him.   
"You have a good few fucking days before we go out again. I want to fucking see you at least once before then." I nod when he looks at me for confirmation. He likes having me close to him. Truly he does. We're friends, so we like being close. And he likes trying to come onto me, which it fine with me. It's fun to flirt with each other. It feels harmless, and sometimes I wish it could be more. But if he saw me, he'd reject me, and I don't want to stop being friends. "What the fuck do you do around my fucking sanctuary?" He asks. We really DO hang out a lot. I laugh when he asks.   
"Read.....t-train. Ex-e-ex-ex-" I sigh. "Ex- " I lift my left arm and flex the muscle before patting it. He raises an eyebrow at me and grins.   
"Exercise." He finishes. I nod. "Interesting. Let me feel those fucking guns." Oh. You want to touch me. I grab the sleeve on my shirt so it won't ride up my arm. When he grabs my bicep, I don't actually flinch. It feels nice, if nothing else. "Well fuck me. You have fucking arms on you." I don't want him to let go of me. "What the fuck kind of exercise?" He asks. His hand goes back to the steering wheel a few seconds after he gives my arm a squeeze.   
"Nnnnormal ssstuff." I answer. Sit ups, pull ups, push ups. Lots of ups are involved. I write that down on my notebook before showing him. Sometimes when I can't say it, I write it down. A lot of our longer conversations happen with my notebook. He takes a look at it and laughs.   
"I am NOT going to make the fucking joke I want to right fucking now." He laughs out. Ugh, sex jokes. I roll my eyes as we pull up to the gate to our own community. The Sanctuary. I'm happy we're back. Extremely. "Do you use my fuckin gym?" He asks. His gym.   
"No." I answer. "It's yours." Holy shit I just said that, too, didn't I? Without stuttering. Whoop.   
"I know it's fucking mine. That's why I fucking use it. How do you do fucking pull ups without a bar?" He asks. I grab my notepad to start writing.   
'I climb.' He parks the truck in it's normal place. It's where most everyone parks. By the place that stores food. I still don't know what the fuck it's called. We both exit the truck and make our way towards the building that houses most everyone here. My bedroom is at the end of the hallway where he lives. After he realized how skittish I was, he put in there so I'd.....I don't know. Be close? Be safe? FEEL safe? I never asked. I just know that it's away from most other people, so I like it. End of the hall, has a fucking WINDOW, which I never had before, and it's small. Confined. I like it that way.   
"You hand."   
"What?" He looks down at his hand, which has blood on it from the man at the town we just raided. No that I'm overly surprised, I just worry sometimes. "Oh fucking this? It's just blood. I'll get it cleaned off in the fucking shower." He offers. I look up at him, he stands nearly a foot taller than me, and nod. "You fucking worried about little old me?" He asks.   
"Yes." I answer simply. Why wouldn't I be worried? I start writing on my pad while everyone round us kneels. It's a thing. He's a king, or he see's himself as one. Everyone has to kneel around him when he walks into a room. It's amusing. Even better that I don't. None of his inner circle do unless otherwise specified.   
'bloodborn pathogens can hurt you if you get bad blood in your system.' I show him while biting my lip. His eyes narrow as he reads it. When he looks at his hand, he seems a little put off by it.   
"I'm fucking fine. It's fucking blood. Go fucking do whatever it is you fucking do. I need to fuck." Great, I put him in a bad mood. I'm a fantastic person. Just great.   
I rush away from him with my machete and my notebook in hand. He'll probably need number five again. Which is ironic, considering Pyat is Russian for five. He usually sends for her when he's in a bad mood. Not that I'm surprised. There has to be a way to work out the anger, right? Having someone there to willingly beat on would be kind of great. Especially if they were for it. I mean, all the power to her if she likes getting hurt. I still can't wrap my mind around it. It's hard to believe someone would WANT the for themselves.   
I shake my head at myself when I enter my room. The door closed and locked behind me, I triple check every time, I toss my stuff onto my small twin sized bed. It's in the corner of the room. Basically, you walk into the room, there's about three feet of clearance to the left of the door where it can swing back and hit the wall. Someone could hide behind it if they wanted. The bed, if you turn directly to the right once you walk in, is pressed against the wall. All the way in the corner about seven feet away.  
The room is seven by twelve by ten. Seven long, twelve wide, ten tall. The walls are a plastered over wood that insulates surprisingly well. The colour is stupid white, turned slightly grey because of the fact that this place is getting old. The floor is covered in a very dull grey carpet. The.....the kind that looks like dread locks, but super thin and small. It's soft to lay on. Sometimes I sleep under the bed instead of on it. That's only on the bad nights, though. There's a table, too, by the bed. I turned it up on it's side so no one could come through the door and see me sleeping. And if dead get in, they'll make noise. The table is at the foot of the bed, it's simple and wooden and currently taller than me. It conceals me well enough.   
I flop down on the floor with a very audible sigh. What the fuck is wrong with me? I should be able to handle everything by now. It's been three years since the apocalypse started. I'm fucking happy it did. I've done fantastic on my own. Better than I ever thought I would. But I'm practically worthless here. All I do is keep to myself and 'guard' Negan. I'm amusement to him at most. He probably doesn't actually give a shit about me. It's hard to believe anyone could. Especially if they saw me. I'm scarred to holy hell and back, and I can barely talk. I spent two years in almost complete silence apart from minor conversations with strangers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry I thought I updated last week. I'm trying to do it every Sunday, so yell at me if I forget. Super sorry guys. I'll post another chapter this week to make up for it. Sorry!


	5. In which we meet James

"Hey sexy." James, one of my.....friends?   
He's sort of a friend. I consider him interesting enough to be a friend, at the least. He talks to me every morning when I grab breakfast. He's this tall but scrawny man that's a few years older than me. I always liked his smile. IT's among the best things about him. That, and the fact that he's very patient with me. He's the only person aside from Negan that sits through my speech problems. He has blue hair, and I honestly have no idea how he manages it. It's like a weird spiked hairstyle that he keeps very styled. It's awesome. He has a little muscle, as most everyone has to in this day and age.   
"Hey." I greet with a smile. He takes a seat across from me with his own plate of food. The breakfast today is, surprise, oatmeal. I hate it. I honestly skipped breakfast for the longest time because it made me feel nauseous. But since James started to talk to me, and Negan ordered me to eat everyday, it's almost worth it to want to puke.   
"How'd the run go yesterday? Heard someone got the shit beat out of them. Would happen to have been you now would it?" He asks. Me? I giggle into my bowl. "No I didn't think so." We train together sometimes, too. "So was it as fun as it looked?" He's always very vibrant, too.   
"I-It....i-it wasssss...." I lick the spoon clean while I think for the proper words to describe what it was. The room around us is buzzing with voices. Too many people, if you ask me. "V-very.....uhm...p-pop-popul-lated." I answer. Sounds like a good adjective.   
"Cool. Were there many dead?" He asks a little quieter.   
He has a thing with them. Like everyone is scared or hates them, but he kind of likes them. I find them as fascinating as he does, personally. It's like he thinks they're a new animal we can study. He wants to lock one up in a glass box and observe it. See what happens. He lost a finger to one already. His pinky, and a chunk of his left hand. He's obsessed with their behavior. He hates them, sure, I mean who doesn't? But he has this thing for them. He says that them killing people around them is in their nature. It's what they need to do. Not their fault. So he doesn't really HATE them.   
"No. Nnnnot...not that I-I saw." I answer, shoving another spoonful of crap in my mouth.   
It's obvious when Negan walks into the room. Everyone goes quiet. Funny I've never been able to track his routine. Some days he eats here, some days he has people bring him his food. Some days he even comes and gets food and disappears. My eyes find him as soon as everyone hushes. He's standing tall as always, with Lucille riding his shoulder as always. He's wearing a white tee shirt that's sort of tight, but also baggy in the right places. It's not tucked in, not that that's like him unless we out on a run. The pants he's wearing are cargo instead of the normal jeans he favours for lounging. Means he plans to go somewhere or do something today. He's already taken his morning shower. Te fact is evident in his still wet hair, and how he has a weird aura about him. And he seems much happier.   
"Earth to Evie." I flinch when James snaps his fingers in front of my face. He calls me Evie because, Like Negan said yesterday, Eve is too normal. Though most everyone calls me Eve or Doll because somehow they're convinced Doll is my name. I won't correct them. No point. "You stare at him too much. A guy might get the wrong impression." He teases. Honestly, if Negan doesn't know I'm into him by now, that's on HIM.   
"Sorrrry." I mumble. "Whhh- what hhhhap-hap-pened hhhhere?" I ask. Everyone in the room quickly starts talking again. Negan's distraction forgotten already.   
"The usual. Ben picked a fight with Henry over Marsha. I think she gets off on watching them fighting over her. Oh, I found something for you." I frown at him. He does that, too. When he goes wherever he goes, he gets things for people. Like his own personal runs. Only they're not legal. He sneaks out of the Sanctuary. It's the thing that everyone knows about, yet no one cares. No one's brought it to Negan's atention, so he won't get in trouble.   
"What?" I ask.   
He reaches for his backpack, but then someone plops down just next to me, making me jump. The dead. The dead can't scare me like this. They can't even sneak UP on me like this. But as soon as the body has a heartbeat, it's like my radar is gone completely. James straightens, his eyes going wide as saucers for a moment. At least I'm not the only one Negan can scare by popping up out of nowhere. He's grinning at us now. Mostly James. Meaning he's about to be deviant. James is going to get destroyed or hurt. Something bad is going to happen.   
"Negan." He greets with a nod.   
"Do you not have a fucking job to get to?" Negan asks. His smile is gone, replaced with a much more stern look. James's job here is to do inventory every day. That, and move things. He does a lot, actually. This includes helping in the kitchen, and doing clean up for certain things. Moments where we talk at breakfast are among his only breaks apart from the five hours of sleep he gets.   
"Not yet, no." He answers. Though he's stiff. Negan scares everyone, so this isn't a surprise. I just go back to eating. I've been around Negan doing this enough times that it really doesn't phase me that much anymore. It sucks he's doing it to JAMES, but I'm not going to say anything.   
"What the fuck do you do around here? I don't remember putting you anywhere fucking near my fucking guard." He's being annoying now. It sucks when my oatmeal is gone, cause now I don't really have a distraction. James looks at me before looking at Negan again.   
"Inventory. I help with meals and cleanup. And I train people to work with guns. Evie here, is just a frie- "   
"Evie." I cringe, but look at Negan. His furious brown eyes bore into me for a few seconds before going back to James. "Doll, what's your name?" He asks me. Great. I swallow hard before answering.   
"E-ev-evelynne." I answer. Negan nods.   
"Her name's fucking Evelynne." He sounds fucking smug. The jerk.   
"I know. I'll just be going back to work, then. Looks like breakfast is just about done. Catch you later?" James asks me as he gets up from the table.  
I smile at him, small smile, and nod. More I'll catch YOU later, since you'll be working. Unless he intends on hanging out in the dead of night. I doubt that'll go over well. He walks away with a head bow to NEgan. This is a weird morning. Maybe Negan's mad at me? Did I forget to talk to him last night or something? We got back around evening. I skipped dinner because I couldn't stomach it. But I don't remember him telling me to do anything but see him before we leave next time. That's three days. Well, two now.   
"D-did-did I do sssssom-something wwrrong?" I ask quietly. Negan's been eating in silence the past few minutes, but there's an energy radiating off him that says he's angry. Or at least irritated. The only distraction I have is chewing on the spoon.   
"Not you, Doll. I don't fucking like it when my fucking men don't fucking know their fucking place." Is he talking about James?   
"D-did......J-Jame-James do ssssomething?" And if he did, what the hell was it? Talking to me? That's not against the rules. Even Negan's wives talk to other men all the time. I'm not his wife, so there's no reason for him to be mad.   
"It fucking looked like you were fucking uncomfortable." Me? Oh, okay. I smile at him before looking down at my bowl. He was trying to defend me. Or maybe he just enjoys being a jerk. Either way, that's ind of funny. Poor James, though. "Were you?" He asks. Uncomfortable?   
"Nnnnot r-really. Mmmmay-maybe a bit." I answer quietly. That's only because everyone makes me uncomfortable. And I know that since I'm a female with a not too bad face, James probably wants more than just conversation.   
"Things you're fucking doing to that spoon might fucking tempt me, Doll." I frown up at him curiously.   
What? He wiggles his eyebrows at me. I honestly am not positive what he means. Oh wait, yes I do. I'm sucking on a spoon because I'm bored. My face heats up embarrassingly before I set it down and give up on trying to be normal. I'm already sweating out of nervousness. He hasn't said anything about the kiss last night- no the night before. Here I am, dreaming about it. It's weirdly good, though. Maybe he won't be weird about it. I'm trying not to be. But I keep thinking about it now.   
"Mmmmmay I g-go?" I ask after a few minutes. It's not like we're talking or anything. I'd like to take a shower. Maybe sharpen Granger and my other knives.   
"Tired of my fucking company already?" He asks me. What?   
"N-no. Nnnned-need a shhhower." I explain. And I'm fucking nervous. Maybe I wanted to get a work out in before I took the shower and got all sweaty.   
"Could fucking share." I giggle before shaking my head. "Why the fuck not?" He asks. He's still joking around at least. I grab my notebook for the answer, just so it'll be easier.   
'Cause you already showered and I like to actually shower in the shower.' he snorts.   
"Point fucking taken. Least it's not a definite fucking no." He's never going to stop trying, is he? As much as I'd love to, I know he'd just hate me as soon as I removed my shirt.   
'Bye. Talk to you later, maybe.' I get up with my bowl and notebook.   
Workout then shower. Then....I don't know. I guess I'll figure that out later. The worst thing about this place is having nothing to do. I mean there's always something to get done, but I mean, there no real entertainment. I can't talk to people without them ditching me, on top of the fact that I'm just not good at it...it sucks. Negan and James are the only two that really like TALKING to me. And Negan has shit to do. James, too. I won't get in their way. So maybe I'll.....read conversational books. Try to get over the stutter. I'd like to be able to really talk to people. My fear shouldn't rule my life.   
"Hey Doll." George, also known as Georgie, greets. He's pretty cool. A cleaning guy, kind of like maid service, but only for the people that don't want women in their rooms. He's kind of nice, but mostly annoying because he always wants to clean my room. I never let him. I clean my own fucking room, and Negan said that was fine.   
"Hey." I greet quietly as we pass. There's a lot of that. That or grunting. I'm more of a grunter most of the time unless we're friends. Or friendly, since I only have two friends. Maybe I'll go help James. Sometimes I actually get to do something other than guard Negan. While I'm really small in height, I'm not that weak. I mean, I can lift Negan. I'm perfectly fucking capable of working.   
"Doll." Dwight greets.   
I like Dwight. Not really LIKE, but he's....cool I guess. Heard he tried to get away or something last year. Back when they were looking into Alexandria at first. He didn't get far. Now his face looks like waffle. At least HALF his face does. I nod my head in greeting as we pass. Okay, to the....gym, I guess. It's Negan's personal gym, no one else is supposed to use it unless he lets them. I know wife three and wife five use it. And I think James sneaks in to work out sometimes. THAT would definitely get him into trouble. I know that for sure. And on top of sneaking out of the Sanctuary, he's probably going to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you guys think so far?   
>  I spell her name weird, sorry about that. I might switch to Evelyne instead, but it's sort of a sketchy name to spell.   
>  And don't worry, she'll get badass. Promise.


	6. In which Evelyne and Negan have a 'talk'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, they're getting somewhere guys! They're getting somewhere! Look look!  
> Promise this'll pick up soon. How do you like James?

"Two hundred ninety." I whisper.  
My arms want to give out. Almost everything does in me right now. But I won't let that happen. I don't want to stop. I need to be able to fucking relax LATER. AFTER I'm sure I'm able to save my own life. Shove the dead off me if they fall on me or something of the sort. It's happened before. I'm shoving a bar above my head with twice my body weight on it. Including the weight of the bar. I weight just over a hundred pounds, so it's not that much weight. I DO know my body still isn't used to working out like this. Not with real weights. I've been improvising with milk jugs full of water. Which are heavy, don't get me wrong, but they aren't....WEIGHTS.  
Everything is going to be sore after I'm done. When you've only used a weight room before the apocalypse, you get used to not using a gym. No wonder Negan stays so fucking fit, though. It's obvious. He even has a genuine treadmill. Which I'm going to hit right...about...now. Woah. It's been a long time since I've felt like...I've been out of shape. But running's always been something I was in to. Just never had the chance until the apocalypse. I have great stamina, weirdly. Not more than Negan. He's very good at outlasting me when we have to run from the dead. Which we've had to do a few times. I hate him for it. I'm faster, but he lasts longer.  
"Played me now, played me now, played me now...." I turn the treadmill on as the song bounces around in my head.  
I have this computer than I only ever charge up when I can. Which isn't often. It's got all this music on it that I stole from the internet back when we still had it. You only call me when it's raining out, was one of my favourite songs. I only ever get to hear them once every few weeks when I charge my computer up and listen to it. The battery only lasts a few hours, but that's fine by me. Sometimes I can make that last me days. No one knows. That's my special secret for myself. Just so happens I got it charged up a few days ago when no one was in the electrical department. Takes about an hour to charge. I think I'll listen to music later.  
"How fucking long you gonna be on that?" I jump, putting my feet on either side of the moving part before I can fall off the thing.  
"Fuck you." I blurt out of sheer anger. I hate it when he creeps up out of nowhere. It's annoying. "Sorry sir. I-I' mmmmean I-I mean N-Negan." I shake my head. What the fuck is wrong with you? You're being stupid. You get so stupid around other people. Especially him. Ugh.  
"Did you just say fuck you to me?" He asks, stepping around the treadmill to face me. I try to look him in the eye, but it's too awkward for me, so I drop my gaze to the number of however long I've been on. Which says about a mile and a half in sixteen minutes. That's shitty time. I need to go faster. I CAN go faster.  
"Yes." I answer as I hit the up button to go faster.  
"To fucking think I offered to fucking let you use this place. That's the fucking thank you I fucking get?" He asks. For once, he doesn't have Lucille on his shoulder. She's probably here somewhere. I don't answer his question. Mostly because I know he's joking with me. If he wasn't, I'd already be in trouble. And I've told him to fuck off before. By the time I get to mile two, it feels like he's bored holes into me. He won't stop staring. I might make it another mile, but I doubt it. I feel like I'm dying already.  
"Y-you-you're ssst-staring." I comment, trying and failing to hide a smile. There's a reason he scares everyone with just looking at them. He's got terrifying eyes. They're big and brown, which means he can do puppy dog very well, but they're black as night when they want to be. He's great at being a leader in that sense.  
"Fucking problem?" He asks.  
"It's disssstrac-racting." I answer. I might fall asleep in the shower if I don't skip it after this. It's still summer, and I'm still in a long sleeved shirt, in a gym where I've been working out for close to two hours now. It's fucking hot. Not to mention I stress sweat when people are around. "B-but no. N-no pr-prob-problem." Not really.  
Stare away. Not like I wasn't used to it before the apocalypse. I close my eyes and imagine myself outside the Sanctuary. Running on a road, or maybe a track. I've never run on a track before. Is it fun? Maybe running from the dead is more fun. I get a rush out of it. Negan thought I went insane once because I couldn't stop giggling like an idiot after we got away from a huge pack of them. It'd been so much fun running from them. Looking for a place to hide. After a minute e'd started laughing with me, and we'd had to cover our mouths to shut up. It was a great day.  
"R-rem-remember....." Fuck what was the town called? "Five months ag-ago?" I ask. He frowns and strokes his beard. He'l know the reference I'm trying to make. The moment it click in his head, his eyes focus on me again.  
"The fucking horde of fucking eighty dead?" He asks. I nod with a smile on my face. That was a fun time. "Yes. Why?" He asks. I shrug and close my eyes again. He'd asked me if I was going insane because I was laughing at the fact that we were trapped. But I was just having fun. "I think that was the first fucking time I ever saw your fucking smile." He says a few minutes later. He's still standing just in front of me. And it's still weird. "You don't do that fucking often." That sounds like a complaint.  
"Nnnnnot.....m-much of a....sm-smil-smiler." I offer quietly, giving up on the treadmill. I made it to two and a half. That's not horrible. When there's adrenaline in the mix, I usually feel much faster. But that's what adrenaline does to you, children.  
"I can fucking see that." I step off the machine and go over to my water bottle. Small sixteen ounce thing, but it can be stretched to last a long time. The water's cold here. Unless you're showering. There's about an hour or two limit per shower. I don't have any idea how the fuck they warm it, and I don't ask. I'm just thankful I can take a long hot shower. Well, warm. And drink icy cool water.  
"Think...I-I think yyyyou m-make up ffffor me i-in thhhhat de-dep-partmmment." He smiles enough for the both of us. Shower then death. Seek out James for dinner so he can tell me whatever it was he was going to tell me. Or whatever it was. Give me something? That was it. He was going to give me something.  
'You really use this place?' He reads the notebook before nodding.  
"Yes I fucking do. Sex won't give me these fucking arms. Or legs. No one can fucking fuck with me. And I have to be able to swing my baby around." That makes sense. Cool. This is officially awkward. Standing in a small weight room, because gym makes it sound like a school room, talking to Negan. While covered in sweat. Not weird. At all.  
'Thanks for letting me use it. Nice to run again.' He narrows his eyes at me.  
"You're a runner?" He asks. I snort.  
"Hhhhave to be. Ap-ap-ap-" I growl before taking my notebook back. 'have to be in the apocalypse.' I'm horrible with that word.  
"That's fucking true. I got a fucking question for you." Oh yay. This sounds great. I lean back against a pillar thing in the middle of the room. This room is underground, so the pillars are to hold the world up, literally, above us.  
"Okay." He hands me my notebook back before doing anything else. Now he looks serious. Which is rare for him around me. I have to crane my neck to look up at him, since he's a good foot taller than me.  
"I think I've made it fucking clear I have a fucking interest in you. And I'm not fucking blind. You're always red in the fucking face around me. Now from what you told me about whatever the fuck happened to you..." I frown and look back down. Okay. This conversation. Yay. My stomach drops. "I'm guessing you aren't fucking saying yes to me because of it. Am I fucking right?" he asks. Wait, okay that's not the question I was expecting. At all.  
"Wwww- " I stare at his belt while I let the words process. "I-I mmmm- " I sigh and start writing. No wonder he gave it back before he asked. His eyes are on me for the entirety of how long I take to write my answer down. And that makes t hard to focus.  
'Sort of. What happened really sucks,and I didn't want you to look at it and see a victim. I'm sure they're all dead now, so it's not like I'm afraid of them. Lots of factors play into why I'm not saying yes to you. Like the fact that it would complicate things, and I'm not confident I would actually be any good. And yes, you scare me, so there's that.' I give up there and give it to him. That feels like a really shitty answer. I should have said something better. Maybe left out that he scares me. But he already knows he scares me. I mean that's not secret. At all. But I don't think my attraction to him is secret either.  
"That is the understatement of the fucking year." He mutters. He's making me feel very tiny next to him. In front of him. Whatever. "How can't you be fucking good? You were a fucking sex slave." He asks. The comment makes me snort as he gives me the notebook back.  
"Wwww-weird c-conc-onversa-sation." I comment quietly as I write. This makes HIM snort.  
'So there's being....not a sex slave. But sort of a sex slave, I guess, and then there's actually knowing what sex is. I just..." I sigh when the memories try creeping up on me. 'I don't like thinking about it. Fuck it if you don't get it. I am not familiar with actual intimacy. You know the shit with feelings.' I can feel the adrenaline creeping up on me, making it harder to breathe. I feel like a fucking kid. I hate not knowing what to say. He'll think I'm so stupid for saying that. I cross that line out, making sure to scribble it over. The part with feelings. 'I just need to not be afraid. I guess.' There. That's as good as it'll get. Though I DO hesitate. Do I want to have this conversation? What he hell will he think of it? I mean he knows I like him. And now he knows about m past. 'I guess I don't really know what sex is like when I'm not being told what to do or....getting hit if I'm not doing it right'. Fuck it. I close my eyes before handing the notebook to him.  
I don't like feeling trapped, but right now I feel trapped. And I'm not sure if I want to look at him to asses his reaction. But I'm already finding myself looking up at him as he reads. His eyebrows are pulled together. Eye narrowed in a way that says he's focusing hard on what he's reading. He doesn't look angry, which is good. Maybe a little weird, but not angry. His eyes flicker to me a couple times when he's reading. His mouth even quirks once. I didn't lie, I don't think. I really DO need to not be afraid.  
"Fucking fuck. I guess I never fucking saw it like that. So you're scared no matter fucking what? Of being bad in the fucking sack?" He asks. This is not the reaction I expected from him at all. Not even close. I'm happy, but surprised. When eh looks at me I nod. He smirks and rolls his eyes. "Ain't that fucking hard. Just take your fucking clothes off. Let your body go from fucking there. And Doll, if you let me do what I Want to do- " I press my hand flat against his chest when he gets a little too close. I'm happy to find he's not.. .unfit beneath his shirt.  
"I-I..." growl again. "N-Negan I just......c-can't...." I close my eyes again. "R-right nnnnnnnnnnnnow. Th-the k-kisssss wwwwas rrreally hard ffor me. Shit comes up, okay?" I ask him. Please don't be mad. "I-It took- "  
"Took a lot just to fucking do that?" He asks. His voice gets deeper when he asks me personal questions. Like he's trying to be quieter. I nod. "The fuck's it going to take?" He asks. For sex?  
"Time. Ex-ex-exposure." Lots of time. That's for sure. There's really nothing else. I'm trying hard to push past it, but time is a huge factor in how I get better. Or whatever.  
"Exposure I can fucking cover. I'm not that fucking patient." He jokes. Yes, we all know how NOT patient you are. If all else fails, I can always have James sneak me out so I can just ditch. Go on my own way again. Though I really like it here. It's nice, and I have friends. "Lighten the fuck up, Doll. Don't fucking push yourself." I flinch when he taps my chin. At least the pressure of his presence lets up a little when he steps away again. Thank fuck.  
"Wait." I blurt. He's just grabbing Lucille and heading towards the weight bar. "My turn." He knows what I mean. My turn for a question. He smirks at me but nods. I have to write it down so it'll be intelligible.  
'You have five different wives. They're all willing to do whatever the fuck you want, literally. What the hell do you find so interesting with me? I'm the poster child for damaged goods." I walk over and hand it to him. It's a legit question I've been wondering for a good while now. Why he's interested in me when he has them. Or any other woman if so chooses. Maybe it the fact that I don't say yes to him. Because I sort of want to, but I've been saying no. Maybe it's the chase. The flirting.  
"Good fucking question. Let's fucking chalk it up to I have eclectic tastes." So you're not going to actually answer me. Basically he's telling me to fuck off politely. I smirk. Fine. Be that way. See if I care. Jackass. "Where the fuck are you going?" He asks. I'm GOING to take a fucking shower. Like I said earlier.  
'Much as I'd love to stay and watch, and believe me I do, I smell. Shower.' He looks at me suspiciously. What? It's the truth. Not my fault you're being weird about it. 'Besides, you made it awkward when you asked me about sex'. that gets him to laugh.  
"Thought you were taking a fucking shower after fucking breakfast?" he asks. Sort of a challenge, but not really.  
"Came here first." I explain. Shorter sentences are easier to say anyways. Easier without stuttering. "Wwwwill y-you be am-amb-ambushing me ag-again?" Since you've already scared the shit out of me twice today. It's not even one yet. He laughs while shoving the bar, which much more weight than I had on it. Doesn't even look hardly phased.  
"You're in my fucking gym. I didn't fucking ambush you. I fucking doubt it. I have shit I need to do. Why? Do you want me to fucking ambush you?" He asks. Good question. Sort of, but I know I wouldn't be able to handle it.  
"Mmmmaybe I-I'll Ambush You." I joke before walking out. Though that's a fat chance. Apparently it's nearly impossible to sneak up on him. Not hat I'm overly surprised. Being a leader, especially one as hard and kind of an asshole as him, would have a serious target on his back. I'm honestly curious as to if anyone HAS snuck up on him. I've never so much as tried. I'm not that ind of person.  
So what does this conversation mean? He doesn't care that I was.....I mean he doesn't care? But HOW doesn't he care? I thought he would. I thought he'd immediately see me as dirty or broken. Yet somehow I don't feel like that's how he feels at all. He let me kiss him. He made out with me. But did he really WANT to? And why? I'd like to think I'm not that amazing. But he didn't kick me out or say never. He said I should take my time. Or whatever. Close enough. This means....he isn't saying no. That's further than I ever thought I'd get.

"Hey, you're still here." James greets when I walk up to him moving a few boxes full of what i'm assuming is produce. Don't know where it came from, I just know that it's from one of the other groups of people. I help James grab the crate that's probably half my size and a third of his.   
"Where to?" i ask. Shit this thing is heavy. I can handle it. It's nothing.   
"The storage box. But we only have to get it to the lift. They'll forklift it to where it needs to go. Not so hard." He explains.   
Sounds like a plan. The lift isn't that far. Maybe fifteen feet. I'm not word about it. I'm kind of strong, if you couldn't tell. And we get the crate, the last of many, there in just a few minutes. Most of that is spent with us panting as we try to maneuver the correct direction without killing each other. My fingers hurt a good bit when we set it own. but it's nothing compared to him. He looks like he wants to drop dead. His entire face is red, on top of the fact that he's dripping sweat. It's not a bad look for him, but it's not exactly flattering, either.   
"So. I thought I was dead this morning with Negan. What the hell was that?" He asks. Oh that. I shrug it off.   
"He-he's j-jusssst p-poss-possessssssive." I answer. Everyone knows we're friends by now. I'm guessing half the place thinks we're fucking on the down low. I don't blame them for thinkin like that. It's a logical assumption. James sighs like he's frustrated at me or something. Why? He's known since the moment I stepped into this place that I was Negan's. And by my own choice. I can leave whenever I want.. That's something I told myself when he offered to bring me here. I can leave when I want. If I want. James shouldn't be made at anyone. "C-come on. Hhhhhe's llllike th-that t- "   
"I know. But you should be able to have friends." He mutters. Friends. Yeah, I do have a friend. "You always shrug it off like it's nothing. I can't stand him treating women like property. Five wives?" He asks. They aren't his property. Believe me I know what that's like.   
"Hhhhhe- " I sigh. There's no point in arguing. James has his mind set on what he thinks about people. HE hates Negan. He hates being here. But he won't leave because he has people here. That's Negan's leverage over him. "What-what d-did yyyou wanna g-give me?" I ask. Subject change normally helps quite a bit. James is kind of like Negan in the sense that he can shift easily. Anymore, you have to be able to.   
"Oh yeah. So I was out the other day and found this. It made me think of you, so I figured I should bring it back." He takes something out of his pocket. Oh it IS a gift. Weird, but okay. That's honestly new. He holds out a necklace. The chain is pretty mangled and dirty, but it's the charm he's meaning to point out. It's a little monkey face, and it's got two hands over it's mouth. I've never seen anything like it before, but I understand what he's getting at. Not hard to connect the dots. It gets me to laugh, at least. "Thought you'd like it. Well I have shit to do. Promise me you'll still eat breakfast with me?" He asks. Promises. Those are kind of big for me. I clear my throat and nod. It's not a promise, just a confirmation. I don't make promises.


	7. Evelyne's Memories

A WEEK LATER  
"Finally. Heat." The shower is warm. Very warm.   
Since everything is limited and all that, I only take one a week. And I make it count. When I take my showers, I TAKE them. It's the one selfish thing I really like doing. No shame. Okay sometimes there's shame, but not often. Not when you feel the warmth spread over your body and sink into your muscles. Definitely not when you're leaning against the wall after washing the dirt and zombie guts off you. It's the most relaxed I feel. Sometimes I skip a week, but that's only when I really hate myself or I'm being lazy. The shower is the one place I feel truly alone. Where I can really relax. Sleep without nightmares.   
"Mmmm." I groan.  
I can picture a lot of things in here. Shamelessly. It took awhile for the one fantasy to not feel overly uncomfortable, and that was the Negan coming in when I was in here fantasy. I have this image in my head of what he would be like. What I would love to picture him like. And that's gentle. He'd come in, probably scaring the shit out of me, and just start to rub my shoulders till I relaxed a little. Then snake his arms around my waist. Maybe he'd speak, but I've never been able to think of adequate speech for him to say to me. I've no idea what he'd say. Maybe, relax? Something like that? And after that, I'm not entirely sure.   
But when I look down at myself, I remember why he'd never actually like me. The scars. they're...all over my body. Not my face or breasts. But there are plenty all over the rest of me. Most of them in places that would be covered normally by clothing. Nothing that can't be hidden in day to day life except for my arms. I have these...slashes. And yes, I put them there. For good fucking reason, too, but I can't help but regret them sometimes. What would Negan think? If he really saw my body? Wracked with all these scars, some from fighting for my life and some from being beaten nearly to death by my masters.   
I've had many of those over the years. The first, when I was eight. He'd been looking, obviously, for a little girl. He'd had a child fetish. And the sex hurt with him. He was kind to me, though. He gave me good snacks, and read me stories to help me sleep. Even home-schooled me until I was ten. Which is when he got sick of my age and got rid of me. The next man that had me wasn't as nice. Not nearly. He was there to train me to be a maid girl. Much better than sex, but the job required that sometimes, too.   
At least once a week I was probably bent over some flatt surface while my boss took me. And generally it didn't last that long. I'd clean myself up and resume my duties. But if everything wasn't perfect, he'd punish me. Mostly by hitting me. Once he shoved me against the corner of a table, sharp corner. Not only did he crack a rib, but I have a scar from the cut I got from it. It's just barely below my bra-line. unfortunately. On my right side. I got another scar from the same guy when he went just a little too far slapping my ass. He hit me so hard and so many times that I have a scar on my left ass cheek. I don't know what it looks like, nor do I care.   
When he let me go, I was thirteen. The next couple were strange. The wife of the man was nice, but she didn't like me. For good reason. But they were my favourite place. I was something called a Little. The man would treat me like the child I was, unless we were having sex. And the sex would last maybe half an hour to a full hour. He'd tell me what to do and I would do it. He'd let me watch whatever movies I wanted. Read whatever books. This was the place I had the most freedom. It's where I learned the most. And I wasn't afraid to talk there. I would usually have very free and normal conversations with both of them. Looking back, it was strangely nice. The best home I had till now.   
The last man that had me, also had a wife. She know exactly who and what I was. But she pitied me and hated me. I went to him because at my previous home, I'd heard them discussing giving me away. And I new that if I had scars on places like my face or arms, even my breasts, I'd never get chosen. That's a rule for some people. The 'merchandise, has to be spotless. Or nearly so. So I grabbed a knife and well....I hurt myself. So they sent me to a breaker. His name was Ivan. And he was a monster. He has a nifty thing called a whip. And another called a flogger. And his best friend, the switch. I have scars everywhere from when I disobeyed, or made him angry. Some are just because he felt like it.   
"Fuck." I shake my head, and the memories away.   
That fucking red head brought Ivan back to the forefront of my mind. And for that, I hate him more than anything else. More than anyONE else. The apocalypse is the best thing to ever happen to me. After that it's Negan. I feel normal with Negan. And James. But mostly Negan. He makes things feel like maybe I won't have to suffer forever. And I'm only nineteen. I don't even know when my birthday is. I just know I'm nineteen. Sometimes I wonder how old the men that had me were. Ivan wasn't that much older. Maybe in his twenties or thirties. He hurt. A lot. Stop thinking about it.   
I turn the shower off much sooner than I normally would, and step out. I can't stand being this uncovered right now. Honestly it's....freaking me out. Seeing the scars, remembering everything. I hate everything about my early life. The towel can't seem to dry me off fast enough. Nothing feels okay right now. It's almost like everything is falling apart. Like I can see myself, and everything that went wrong. All the things they did to me. Everything they've ever done. All of it. And it's hitting me again now. Nothing is okay.   
My clothes, once on, prove to make everything feel a little better. Not much, but a little. Stupidly, I'm having another attack. All because I saw myself and it hit me again. There's no way I'm allowing myself to freak out in the showers. Negan's the only one with a private shower. I always lock the door, but I'm still not going to freak out in here. Library is one of the better places. Most people avoid it there. Unfortunately for me, I run smack into someone on my way out. Hard. They almost knock me back on my ass, but not quite.   
"Fffffffuck I'm ssssor-ry." I keep going, even saying the rushed apology, so they won't see me like this. No one has, no one will.   
I slam my bedroom door shut behind me. There were people in the library, so I had to book it here. This is the safest place to be, it's just hard to get here without NEgan seeing me. I lock the door and make my way to my bed. Though I manage to run into the table, too. Slamming my shoulder against it like it's a brick wall and I'm fucking blind. Fuck this shit. I crawl under my blanket and curl up on my side. I'm not this pathetic. I shouldn't be doing this here. Not anymore. I should be over this.   
But you're not because you're pathetic. Pathetic little girl can't even stop herself from crying. Over something that happened fucking three years ago. Boo hoo. You're surrounded by brave ass people that can face not only the dead, but each other. Because that's NORMAL. You aren't normal. You're a freak. they all see it. They probably laugh at you when you're not in the room. Hell, the only reason you have any friends is because they pity you. James feels bad about your stutter. I bet that necklace was him telling you to shut up. And Negan. Ha! You really fucking believe he wants anything to do with you? Eclectic tastes my fucking ass. He likes the entertainment you being so pathetic provides him. You're never going to be good enough. You should just give up now.   
I want to. You're right. They don't even know me. I'm pathetic. I can't do anything right. All I ever do is flinch and stutter. And I'm afraid of the wrong people. IT's the dead that should scare me. But I almost prefer their company. Sure, they want to kill me, too, but at least they're predictable. People aren't as predictable as the dead. That's why I prefer the dead. Maybe all anyone here wants is for me to leave. I should. If I asked James to help me get out, he would. Even if he didn't, I know how to get out on my own. They probably wouldn't even notice. Or care, for that matter. I'm just the weirdo that stutters.   
This all happens over the span of a half hour. It's almost always the same length of time when it really hits me. Tears, shaking, adrenaline, fear. Everything at once hits my body. It's exhausting. Most every time I have one of these, I need another few minutes to get myself back enough to e a human again. But this one, I think, lasted about forty five minutes. Longer than normal, but nothing I haven't been through before. The tears stop coming eventually. And my muscles relax enough that I can begin to doze. Nothing's happening today, so I could theoretically sleep it away without worrying about anything.   
The run we went on a few days ago, proved to be very.....unfulfilling. We left, we rode in near silence as usual, and when we got there everything was basically silent. Negan had been in a shitty mood for an unknown reason. He'd enjoyed killing whatever dead he saw, though. He'd had fun with that. But it was unsettling to be around. We didn't find anything we could bring back with us, so we went back tot he truck and waited for the others to return so we could leave together. It was a rather boring day. Tomorrow we're all supposed to go back to Alexandria for another round of 'give us your shit'. I plan on asking Negan if I can go.   
Negan, who's been out of character nice to me. He's normally ALWAYS nice, but in a Negan way. No, over the last week he's just....been less of a come on. He didn't even tell me to lighten up out on the run the other day. Which is out of character for him because he almost always has to say it. I just don't like having fun like he does. He eats dinner with me now, and I can't figure out why. But it's nice to have a conversation with him. Hell, maybe he's doing what I asked and giving me time or something. I don't know, but I suppose it's a start. Things are changing.   
"Hey sexy! Open up!" James. Ugh. I'm already tired of his shit. He's too.....he's just too James right now. Calls me Evie or Sexy and I can't say I hate being called Sexy because it doesn't come out o my fucking mouth. If nothing else, maybe he'll just leave me alone. That's what I want. To be left alone for right now. "Come on, I just wanna talk- "   
"Fucking leave before I fucking kill you." Great. NEgan. THAT is what I need right now. I cover my head with the blanket and let my back hit the wall. I don't want to deal with any of them today. It's nothing that I can do right now. He'll know I've been crying. Probably ask me why. "Doll you fucking alive in there?" He asks through the door. Alive yes.   
"Yes." I answer. Do I HAVE to get up? I really don't want to.   
"Open the fuck up." He orders. Great. I sigh as I get up and out of the bed. The last thing I want to do is look at him and see him look at me and know that I was crying. I wipe at my eyes before opening the door for him.   
"Hhhhhe was j-just...wwwor-worried." I didn't show up for breakfast this morning. He was most likely just worried about me or something. I keep my eyes on the floor, though. Instead of looking at him.   
"I don't give a fucking fuck what he was doing. We're going on a fucking run tomorrow. Do you want to fucking come with me or stay here?" HE asks. Wow, I didn't think he'd want me to come. I lean against my door and nod.   
"Yeah....." I nod. "I-I do." Just go away. I'll be there tomorrow. Just need the rest of today to recuperate or whatever the fuck it's called. Recover. That attack hit me kinda hard. "Thhhhat-that it?" I ask. I hope it is, honestly.   
"Why the fuck is he fucking worried about you?" He asks. Ugh. Great. I sigh into the door.   
"Cause I skipp-skip-skip-skip-" My head bangs against the door a couple of times. "Breakfast. Didn't go." Didn't feel like it. I wasn't hungry. Didn't want to deal with anyone. Skipped lunch, too. But I'm definitely going to dinner. Not just because of Negan. I'm starving.   
"Why the fuck not?" He asks. Sounds like he's in a mood. Someone probably pissed him off. I should tred lightly. I'm going to be in trouble with him, and I still don't know what exactly he'd be willing to do if I made him very mad. Part of me wonders if he'd hurt me. Like Ivan or Jackson. David. "Sweetheart when I fucking- "   
"I-I'm sorry." I blurt. "J-jusssssst wwwwwaswasn-wasn't hhhhung-hungry." Why waist the food if you're not going to eat it? Fuck just go away. Please.   
"You're fucking eating tonight. I expect you to be at fucking dinner. Got it?" He's definitely angry. I nod at him carefully. Slowly. Sometimes, when I'm like this, I have to stay in my room because even Negan terrifies me. My mind gets warped. Everyone suddenly just becomes this....thing. Bad thing.   
'Are you okay?' I bite my lip as I wait for his response. We didn't lose anyone. I haven't heard any screaming or yelling. So I'm curious as to what's wrong. I'm always worried about him, I guess.   
"I'm fucking fine. I'll fucking see you at dinner." That's all he says before he vanishes back down the hall. Okay fine. You're not okay. Something's up. But if I push, it could just make him MORE angry. That's not something we need right now. I can't handle Negan's rage. Or anyone,s for that matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are you all liking it so far?


	8. The Big Bad.....

"Hey doll." Dwight greets.  
He always greets me. It's weird. Today it's just annoying. Feels like he always annoys me. Then again, sometimes most people do. I hate everything some days. Today is one of those days. Mostly because last night when me and Negan were eating, and something snapped .He just went off. Beat some guy for some reason that I still don't understand. And then he yelled at ME for....for asking what was wrong. And I know I shouldn't care, because everyone knows he does that. But he's never yelled at me like that before. I'm honestly thinking about staying here today. But I need fresh air. And open spaces. And distance.  
"Hi." I mumble. I think he's coming today, but I'm not sure. Don't care, either.  
I look away from Negan when I see him. He's leaning against his stupid truck with Lucille on his shoulder. Like always. I'm not even mad at him. I'm mad at myself. I shouldn't have said anything. Shouldn't have done anything. I shouldn't have even gone to dinner. I did something wrong. It was my fault. Hell, he was probably mad at ME for some stupid reason because I'm stupid. Or he's tired of waiting for me. Or maybe he just hates me. This thought makes me want to turn back with every step I take.  
"Good fucking morning, Evelyne." He greets. So now it's Evelyne. He starts the truck as soon as he gets in. Everyone else is ready. It just makes it that much harder to breathe. But I'm going to be fine. We have to be, right?  
"Morning." Can't be a bitch. I've never been that kind of person. I can't find it in myself. There's no reason for it. He's mad at me because I did something wrong. That's on me. He gets to be the bitch. I probably deserve it. So I'll just shut up.  
That's how basically most of the ride goes. It's quiet. No point in trying to talk over the roar of his truck anyways. Couldn't hear over the wind, either. I've rolled my window down to breathe a little. I'm a little like those dogs in the movies. The ones that stick their heads out the window of the car? I do that. It feels amazing. Like I'm flying. And I get the metaphor. I want to fly because it would be easy to get away from my problems. Run away. That's what I focus on for at least an hour. The wind feels good. I can almost sleep like this.  
Maybe he'll make me wait in the truck this time instead of letting me go in. He seems a lot better than he did last night. Happier. Much more relaxed with everything. He's not glaring anymore. I can feel him looking at me. IT's part of the reason I bring my head back inside the car. To make sure he isn't looking at me like Ivan did before he hit me. But no, he's just smiling. He's done a complete 180 in mood. Which is good. Good for our side, anyways. Maybe not good for Alexandria. He gets happy when he gets to hurt people. Which isn't a good thing, but it's not like he WANTS to hurt them. They deserve it.  
Our eyes meet once on the way there. He just turns his head to look at me as I'm looking at him and we lock. Normal for us, but it still feels like I've been caught doing something wrong. All he does is smile. His entire demeanor is relaxed today. One hand on the steering wheel, loosely holding it. The other hand on his thigh. His hair is combed back, but more like he ran his hand through it to smooth it down. He's clearly thinking about something. Most likely battle strategies, or what he's going to say. Who he's going to make an example of if he needs to make an example of anyone.  
"You going to fucking say anything or are you just not in the fucking mood? Butt hurt over what I fucking said last night?" He asks suddenly. And I was just about to start dozing off. Of course, though. He has to start conversation. At least he isn't mad at me.  
'You mad at me?' Can't form words. Don't want to. And we're almost to the gate. I can see it up ahead. He snorts before handing the notebook back.  
"No. I'm not fucking mad at you. Did you fucking do something wrong? SHOULD I be mad at you?" He asks. I tense up when I see someone, the man that grabbed me last time, is on the top of the fence with a gun. What if he shoots us? Or shoots Negan and takes me? What if he and his people just want to hurt us now? Like they did to the others at the compound. "Evelyne." Negan snaps his fingers next to my face.  
"What?" I ask quietly. "Thhhhere-there's a g-guard. Hhhhhe has a gun." I nod to the top of the gate. "Nother on the corner. And....two on the other side of the gate." I twitch.  
"Jesus fuck. They just do NOT fucking LISTEN!" I flinch. "That's fucking it. No more weapons for them. Like fucking children." He laughs. "Stay in the fucking truck, less you intend on fucking killing someone. Understand?" He asks me. I just nod.  
"Okay." I answer quietly. But i'm getting out. No way I'm being useless if they intend on opening fire on us. I don't trust them. Not a bit. Not after what they did. There are four on us, those are the ones I can see. But I have a keen eye for that. People can sneak up easy enough, but dead can't. And I'm terrified they're going to hurt him. So we both get out of the truck at the same time. Him with Lucille, me with Granger.  
"Everyone put the fucking guns the fuck down! Or I will fucking kill you and take every single one of you the FUCK out!" He growls. The man up top moves. Looks like he's looking behind him. He IS. And he looks very unhappy. Pissed off. But he winds up vanishing behind the wall. As does the other one I saw down a ways.  
"The guns are down, don't fire!" That voice is really....tough sounding.  
The leader. There's no way it isn't the leader. The accent is from here. The tone is demanding. Almost as soon as the words are spoken, the gate opens. He, the very large man, and a black woman are standing there to greet us. She's about as tall as the leader. Very long hair and it's amazing. She looks tough. Looks very smart, too. Not like she's judging everything we do. Just like she's analyzing. And she has a sword. Strangely. The man, the larger one, he's puffed out. Meaning he's puffed his chest out as a sign of strength, and anger.  
"What the fuckety FUCK are you doing pointing your fucking weapons at ME!" I stand just next to him with my machete ready. By now a few of the other men in the group have lined up on either side of us. And they ALL have their guns out. And swords. Blades. The works. The leader guy shifts. He looks afraid. His eyes are really wide.  
"There's another group out there. We thought they were comin for us. That's it. We didn't know it was you." He's trying to be reasonable. After what they've done already? Negan laughs.  
"Well alfuckingrighty then! Everyone round their shit up!" Negan orders. Fine. No fighting, then. Whatever. The men go back to the truck, some of them, while others just start walking inside the gates. "I repeat my fucking question from before. Did you do something fucking bad?" He asks me. I can't take my eyes from the red haired man. He's staring at Negan. At us.  
"Nnnnno? I-I don't.....think so." I answer quietly. I only just now see that the man's face is pretty bruised up. I only didn't see it before because the bruises are yellowing. But he's been hurt. Negan. He beat him up last week.  
"What the fuck is your deal with him?" He asks me quietly. Then he steps in front of me so I can't see the man. So I'm staring at his chest now.  
"Wwwwhat- what- "  
"Every tome you fucking see him you fucking clench up. Did he fucking hurt you?" Hurt me? No.  
"Hhhhe..." I grab my notebook.  
'He looks like one of the men that hurt me a lot. He isn't the guy, but he looks like him. That's all. I'm sorry about last night.' Since he's probably mad about that, too.  
"Don't be fucking sorry. You didn't fucking do anything wrong. Wait the fuck out here until I get back." He orders. So I DIDN'T do anything wrong? Good to know. He's very confusing.  
"Yes Sir." I shake my head. "Negan. Jesus." I mutter as he walks off. As soon as the bigger truck drives by us and everyone's gone, I shake my head at myself. "Smooth. You're so great at talking it's really impressive. Fucking idiot. Yes sir." I mock myself. Honestly. Six months without saying that to him and NOW I'm called him sir? Jesus fucking fuck, what's wrong with me?  
I turn and start walking around. It'll take a good half hour for him to get back here, so I'm going to at least wander a little. It's not like anyone's out here. I'm not too worried. The other's seemed to follow Negan and the men back towards the houses and such. It's kind of beautiful here. There's a burned down guard tower just beside the road. Which is strange to say the least. Like what the fuck was it supposed to be to begin with? It looks like someone, a giant like jack in the bean stock, punched a whole in the thing. One full side of it's basically gone. The top of the tower's still there, barely hanging on by a thread. But the thing is surrounded with grass.  
"Cool." I step inside it.  
Always liked drawing with coal. Something about it, not sure what, makes it fun to draw with. Maybe it's the fact that there's hardly any control. You just sort of go and hope what you're drawing turns out. I bend down and start collecting pieces of the burnt building. Small ones, the kind that'll fit in my pack. Maybe I can find some spare paper one of these days. It would be cool to get a whole sketch book. I've always loved drawing. I've gotten quite good, though that's something I'd never brag about. I can tell these will be fun to draw with since just picking them up makes my fingers turn black.  
"Maybe I'll draw HIM." I mumble to myself.  
I've only been able to draw a few things since I've been here. When I find spare paper and pencils. But I've never drawn Negan. I wonder if I even COULD. It's weird to think about it, but I want to. He makes me feel safe. He makes me feel like it's going to be okay. Like I shouldn't be afraid of my own stupid shadow. Drawing him could be fun. I could be weird, and hang it on my wall or something. Maybe not. Negan would think it's weird. I'd hide it in my pack, though. That way I can have a picture of him. Just in case. He would look very....interesting, drawn in coal.  
"I can feel your presence." I mumble to myself.  
It's not human. I can't hear it, yet, but I can FEEL it. It's probably just about to creep up behind me. I can kill it instantly, but I want to know how close I can let it get. Act like I don't see it and then BAM! Fuckin dead right there. The dead have always been easy to pick up on. It's like I have a lizard brain for it. I'll always be able to sense when the're close. Humans? Nope. Not a chance in hell, but the dead? Easy. I can always feel it when they're near. Always feel it when they're just behind me.  
I hear it step onto the wood. Shuffle, it the better word for it. I keep my eyes on the piece of charcoal in my hand. I don't know why I have to act like I don't see it, I just find it fun. Call it a fun sporting thing. I don't know. A moment or so later I can hear it's tiny growls. It's shorter than me. Meaning it's a child. Or a REALLY short person. I'll have to aim low. It's maybe five feet from me now. I grip my machete tighter in my hand, readying myself to spin on it. Just another second. It's very close now. No point in waiting any longer.  
I spin quickly. My balance has always been good when I fight. It's only bad when I'm anxious. I'm not anxious right now. I'm prepared. I'm centered. I exhale just before I turn, just to even out my body. The swing is easy. The whole thing happens so fast I barely get to process it. Breathe, turn, swing, done. Apart from the sudden pain in my left side. The child, it was a small boy, falls to the ground dead. He's got a nice slide going through the center of his head now. And half his mouth is gone.  
"Fuck." I whisper, looking down. The pain's gotten much worse now. Like....a LOT worse. And when I look down at myself I see the head of an arrow sticking out of my side. It hurts. A lot. Like.....fucking a lot. "Ow. OW!" I yell, grabbing at it. Wait, do I take it out?  
"Don't touch it! What he hell are you doin out here!" I turn quickly as the man yells at me. Funny, it's the same man that I saw last week. He picks me up just as I'm falling. "You moved or I wouldn'ta hit you. Idiot. you shouldn't be out here. What are you thinkin!" He yells. I flinch back, but then groan in pain.  
"You shot me." I mumble. The pain really hits me again. "You shot me. What did I do? I didn' thurt you." I reason. I didn't. I haven't so much as said a single word to anyone here. And he SHOT me. He fucking SHOT me. When I look up at him for answers, he's giving me a weird ass look.  
"You turned. I was gonna shoot the somebitch behind you. What the hell were you doin out there little girl?" That's a demeaning name to call me. Fuck. It was an accident. Negan's going to be pissed. Fuck, and I'm losing a lot of blood. Hell, I might pass out. Not eating breakfast, not drinking enough water, and now blood loss. I'm going to pass out soon enough. Fuck. Fuck.  
"Negan. Fuck. Fuck!" I go to grip my side, but I can't without touching the arrow. And I don't know what to do because it REALLY fucking hurts. And it's bleeding everywhere. It's on my left side, poking out my shirt. It looks like it's an inch or so below my bra. High enough up that it could have hit a lung. But I'm breathing fine, so maybe not? I hope not. Maybe I'm lucky and it was just a through and through.  
"What happened?" That's the leader guy. He sounds genuinely concerned. Oh no. I need Negan. First to tell him not to kill this guy for accidentally shooting me. And then to make sure he doesn't let them hurt me. What if they kill me? "Daryl!" I flinch hard, then whimper at the pain.  
"Shut up. It was an accident. Got in the way. The hell she was doin out there." He complains. Suddenly we aren't outside anymore. And since it's so much not sunnier in here, I'm nearly blind. I almost think I pass out for a moment before my eyes focus. And then I'm on a bed of some kind.  
"Is she going to be okay." It almost doesn't sound like a question anymore. And I'm about to pass out.  
"What the FUCK!" There you are. Negan. Finally. I look for him furiously. There are three people around me. One of them is a woman and she's touching me. The man that carried me in is holding my other shoulder down and Negan is heading for me with a look of rage on his face. I get the urge to apologize.  
"It- It was- it wa-it was an accident!" I blurt. "I-I'm sssssorry N-Negan!" Please don't hate me. I didn't mean for this to happen. I should have just stayed home .This is my fault. This is my fault. It's my fault. Don't be mad.  
Black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I almost didn't update today on account of the premier, but I gotta, right? So here's this


	9. In Which Evelyne Gets Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what's going on in the most wonderful way

"Mmmm." I groan. Maybe it was just a dream. I hope so. It would be nice if it were just a dream.   
"Where'd you get them scars?" My eyes fly open at the stray voice.   
That man, the one that....commented on my ass last week, and apparently shot me, is standing by my bed. He looks tired. His eyes are just slits and he looks angry. His hair is in his eyes, one arm crossed over his chest while the other is rubbing his chin. He's skinny, but he has serious muscles on him. A few stray scars here and there. His hair looks really greasy. Like he never washes it. And he's in another ripped off sleeved tank top. The only weapon on him is the knife on his hip. His eyes flicker over my body after a few seconds.   
I look down at myself, realizing that yes, my chest has been bandaged and hurts. A lot. Fuck. Fucking fuck. Then I see the scars. I'm only in my bra! Fuck who saw me! Did Negan? No no no no no no no! He can't see me! He'll fucking hate me. He'll never want me near him again. He'll be disgusted. He'll hate me. He probably already does. That's why he isn't here. There's no one else here at all, in fact. Just the guy that shot me. No shirt to be found. Fuck. I can't breathe. Where's Negan? Did he leave? I need my shirt.   
"Gi-give me my shirt." I mumble, pulling the small blanket up to my shoulders. My eyes dart everywhere looking for it.   
"What?" The man asks. He goes to say something else, but I get there first.   
"I need my shirt! Give me my shirt! Where's my shirt! He can't see this!" I screech. I swear I've never sounded so fucking weird before. But my throat's threatening to close on me, and it feels like I can't breathe. It's like everything is closing and falling down around me. "I need my shirt!" I yell again.   
"Calm down. Jesus, girl." He growls.   
I can't breathe. I need that shirt. It's the only thing keeping Negan from hating me entirely. It's my fault I got hit. It's my fault all this happened. If I hadn't gotten up this morning like I did I wouldn't have come and I wouldn't have gotten in the way. But I got shot. I got fucking shit. It's my fault. I moved. I left the truck. I wandered. Why? Because I needed air. This is MY stupidity. I'm NEVER this fucking stupid. EVER. I NEVER should have come today. Probably disappointed everyone. I need my shirt.   
"Here." He tosses something at me that makes me yelp. But a few seconds later I realize it's my shirt. Still covered in blood, but it's at least something. Fuck. Pain. Everywhere. Everything hurts. It's painful to put it on. I have to lift my arms, and moving my left arm at all hurts like a bitch. Not the arm itself, but my side. So I do what I can to NOT lift it. Takes a minute, but I get the shirt over that side of my head. "Ain't no big deal. You shouldn't have gotten in my way. You shouln't've been out there at all. The hell were you thinkin little girl?" He asks. I work the shirt down my stomach, over the bandage, and finally manage to relax a little. But that doesn't mean I'm not crying. Because I am. I'm crying, and it hurts to breathe. And I'm freaking out about Negan. "Calm down." e orders again.   
"Hhhhhe ssssaw mme d-didn't he? Thhhey-th-they all d-did?" I ask. Now I can't even remotely breathe. Everyone saw me. Fuck.   
"Your father do that shit to you? He hurting you? That why you're attached at the hip? Cause he's hurtin you and you can't get away? Some form of Stockholm or some shit? Why the hell were you here? He make you come? Show you how tough he is?" I lift my eyes from my hands. Father? Who? "Do you need help? Cause - "   
"Negan is not my fffather." I blurt. Wow, hey, no stutter. Granted, I do't stutter when I 'm mad. the stutter is induced by anxiety. Which I'm in a constant state of around people. But right now I'm just....angry? I guess. The man stops in his tracks. "Hhhhhe-he....no." It's almost funny to me he thinks that. But I can't laugh. I'm too scared. And everything hurts.   
"Then why the HELL are you around him all the time? And why were you outside!" Fuck don't hurt me.   
What is Negan even going to think? He's probably going to be pissed at me for getting shot. This is my fault. I should have stayed home, anyways. Fuck. I press my palms into my eyes, trying desperately to stop the tears. I have to stop crying. Did Negan see my scars? Maybe that's why he's not here. That or he never cared to begin with. Which wouldn't surprise me. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't have come. I'm so fucking stupid. he's going to hate every part of me now. This is why I never let him do anything with me. Never let him see me.   
"Stop cryin." He orders. One order I've never been able to follow. I can't stop crying on command. That's not possible for me.  
I'm such a failure of a human. I'm not supposed to BE here. I should be dead. Maybe I should still be locked in a basement. Maybe I deserved what Ivan did. I mean....I can't do anything right. All I do is the wrong thing. SAY he wrong things. My presence made Negan beat a guy half to death last night. Right? That's my fault, too. James's life is gonna suck now because of me. I should leave. Hell, maybe I should be dead. Maybe that's what I deserve. I should be dead. Fuck I should never have gotten out of Ivan's basement. I should have just stayed there.   
"Evelyne." shit. Negan's here. Fuckity fuck. And I can't even bring my knees to my chest because it hurts too much. "What the fuck happened? Does it hurt that fucking bad?" He asks. For once his tone is relatively calm. Breathe. You have to breathe. I shouldn't be this weak in front of him. Breathe and get under control. "Here. Fucking speak so I know who the fuck to kill." I jump when something plops down on my thighs. But it's just my notebook. But my hands are shaking. Everything seems to be. Did he see my scars? "Tell me what the fuck happened." He orders. What happened? Oh when I got shot.   
'Don't really know. It was an accident.' It takes a couple tried, but I get it written. Shakily. 'Am I in trouble?' I pull the sleeves of my shirt down over my hands, and pull the blanket up past the hole that shows part of my chest.   
"No. You're the fucking one in the fucking hospital bed with a fucking arrow through you. Are you absolutely fucking positive it was a fucking accident? At this fucking point I don't give a shit, he's gonna get hurt. Bad. Fucking really fucking bad. What the fuck were those scars on you, Lynne?" He asks. My whole body goes colder. Every part of me feels cold or numb. Some combination of both. This time, the pain doesn't matter. I don't care what hurts. I draw my legs to my chest and press my eyes to my knees. He saw them. He saw me. He saw ME. No no no. He saw me. He saw me. "Fuck. Breathe. Stupid fucking question. I'm not fucking mad at you. Calm the fuck down. Evelyne."   
"Back off! Hey, you can't bunch up like that you have a cracked rib." Female. Much older than one would expect. and pretty tough sounding.   
"You fucking back the fuck off." Negan growls. This situation needs to bog down. Everyone, including me, needs to calm down. But even thinking that is unrealistic because I can't calm down. He saw me. What if he thinks I'm disgusting now? I've imagined this scenario a hundred times, even had nightmares about it. But nothing like this. It's not supposed to happen like this. It's not supposed to happen at all. "Evelyne!" I yelp and cover my head with my arms.   
"Everyone shut up!" That's the guy again. I've never freaked out this hard in front of Negan. He's never seen me this weak before. Ever. "Evelyne, that her name?" He asks. "Alright. No one's mad at you. Understand? You ain't in any trouble." He explains. But it was my fault I got shot. I moved. In the way. It's my fault.   
"The fuck are you so scared?" Negan asks.   
"Shut your mouth. You're not helpin." Stop fighting. Stop fighting. Please stop fighting. "Kid, why are you scared? You scared o him or somethin?" Negan? Only scared that he'll hate me for what I look like.   
"You should fucking leave. Now. Are you satisfied that I don't fucking abuse her, yet?" Abuse me? I lift my eyes from my knees to look at them. Maybe I can get answers just by looking. What the hell is he talking about? Abusing me. That's a strange conclusion to come to. Negan looks at me before nodding like he's answering my silent question. "Man here thinks I gave you those fucking scars. Mind fucking telling him I didn't?" He asks. I actually get a laugh out of that one. But he's being serious.   
"Wwwwwwhat?" I ask.   
I look at all the faces around me. The guy that shot me looks almost TOO serious. He keeps eyeing me and Negan. Then there's the woman. She looks like an elf. Not in size, just in the way her entire face is set up. She looks really nice, actually. Maybe in her late forties with silver and white hair. It's sticking up like.....not messy, but like it's supposed to be like that. Her nose curves up just like the elves from the books I used to read when I was much younger. She has a not happy look on her face. It contradicts her facial features. And then there's Negan. He's just waiting for an answer.   
"Hhhhe-" I shake my head. "Nnnnno. N-no. Hhhhhe d-dod-oes-doesn't hhhhurt-hurt me." I answer. If anything he really helps. Seems like everyone in the room relaxes a bit at my answer. They were really worried about that?   
"Fucking see? NOW leave. Right fucking now before I fucking hurt someone." Negan growls. "Leave!" I jump again. Fuck he's mad. Is he mad at me? What did I do? I mean I got SHOT. That was my fault and he's probably mad at me now. Like last night.   
"Fine. She ain't okay when I get back- "   
"Just fucking leave before I beat another o your sorry fucking asses to death." Negan growls at the man. Guess that makes about as much sense as it can. It doesn't take much time before the silence fills the room. "Why the fuck are you crying? Are you in fucking pain?" He asks me. Pain? A little, sure, but not much.   
'You saw me.' That's all I write. And it's not like I expect much from him.   
"You mean your fucking scars?" He asks. "They're nearly. Fucking badass. Are you fucking scared of me fucking seeing your fucking scars?" He asks. Yes. I finally have to let my leg down so I can breathe a little. But I clutch the thin white blanket to myself. He grunts when I nod. "Are you fucking suicidal. That what your fucking are all about?" He asks. Suicidal?   
"No." I answer. "Wwwwhy....why a-are...." I clear my throat. He's still here. "Y-you ssssaw m-me....." I shake my head and grab my notebook again.   
'Why are you still here?' I ask.   
"The fuck you think o me? I just drop and fucking run because you're fucking messed up? I'm fucking insulted." He mutters. When I look at him, he's not glaring at me. He doesn't even seem disgusted.   
'So....you aren't disgusted?' I ask. His eyebrows knit together.   
"No. Are you fucking disgusted? That why you never wear anything but that fucking shirt?" I nod. "You're not fucking disgusting, Doll. Fuck, I can't fucking imagine what that shit fucking felt like. Did you do that shit to your arms?" He asks. There's a good few cuts on both of my arms. I wipe at my eyes before nodding. "To fucking die?" He asks just a little quieter. No.   
'So they wouldn't send me away again.' I answer. 'I couldn't cut my face, I was afraid to.' He sighs.   
"I don't fucking understand what the fuck. Did you do that shit to die?" He asks. I shake my head.   
"Wwwwwhen.....when you......lllo-look a c-cer-certain wwwway......y-you g-get chosen fffa-faster. I- " I shrug. I hate crying. It feels really weak. "I d-didn't.....didn't......but it didn't matter." I wipe at my eyes quickly when they start leaking. "They sent me.....to someone much worse. B-because.....because I was bad." And I needed to be broken. "I-I thought......if....i-if you ssssaw me....."   
"First off, I don't have to fucking BUY my women. They fucking come to me willingly. You did that shit to fucking save yourself?" He asks. Save myself is the best word for it, yes. "Then I don't give a fucking shit. That honestly why you're so fucking scared right now? You think I'm just going to fucking hate you for saving the fuck out of yourself? Someone that's willing to fucking mame themselves to fucking survive is someone I can fucking respect." Respect? He's being serious. HE's the one person I can generally tell if he's lying to me. Because he doesn't usually ever LIE. As hard as it is to look him in the eye right now, it's weird to see him not giving me the look Ivan would. Every time he looks at me.   
"I need to.....sssst-stop crying." I mumble to myself. He's not even mad at me. Respect is a word I never thought anyone would use for me. I'm just me.   
"You need to fucking do what you need to fucking do. Are you in pain?" He asks. I shake my head.   
"Had c-crack-cracked ri-ribs before. I-I'm fffffine. Wwwwhen-when a-are we leaving?" I ask. If you even still want me to come with you. Or whatever. I'm confused right now, I guess.   
"You aren't fucking going anywhere until next week. The men fucking left yesterday. The only fucking reason I'm still fucking here is for you. I fucking intend on waiting until you're fucking good to fucking go." Why? Fuck there's no reason for him to be here unguarded.   
'They could kill you. You're not guarded, there's a lot of them here. We should leave before they try something. Like actually shooting us. Remember what they did at the compound?' He reads it over and I bite my nails. Always liked watching him read. Weird as that sounds it's an interesting thing to watch. Especially for me. He's always thinking harder when he's reading. But he finds what I said amusing.   
"I'm not fucking stupid. I have two of their fucking people at the Sanctuary. Until you and I are safe there, those two fuckers stay. And work." He's holding people. That's smart. "Are you done fucking insulting me now?" He asks. I actually laugh at that one.   
"Yeah.....I...d-didn't...didn't know y-you wwwwwouldn't....c-care. Th-the wwwway y-you llllllook at Dw-dw-dw-dw-" I shake my head and grab my notebook.   
"I look at him like that because he pisses me the fuck off." He says it before I get the chance to write anything down. I guess.....that makes sense. "Are you fucking sure you aren't in any fucking pain? You were out a long fucking time." I frown.   
"Hhhhhhow long?" I ask. Doesn't feel like more than a couple hours.   
"Two days. Fucking passed out after mumbling some shit about it bein a fucking accident. You looked terrified." Great. I push myself up a little more, so I'm at least sitting up. It hurts like a mother fucker.   
"I was." Might as well be honest. "Hhhhhe....h-he didn't.....w-wasn't t-trying to shhhhhhoot me. I-I got i-in the way. My bad for w-want-wanting t-to....hhhave fffun." He laughs.   
"Accident or fucking not, no one hurts my fucking people without getting fucking punished. I won't fucking kill him, if that's what you want. But I'm not fucking moving you until you get the fucking stitches out of your side. That's at least a fucking week. They get to take fucking care of you. And deal with me." Oh fuck. No. I groan as my body tenses. This is nothing. I've had broken ribs before. Like when I got the scar on my right side. Broke three ribs that day.   
"N-nega-negan." I shake my head. "Yyyyyou shhhould....g-go. They're...." Breathe. You can be here for a week without him. He shouldn't be here. If you're is guard, fake or not, you need to protect him.   
"Fucking calm down. I have one more fucking question for you." He sounds angrier now. Don't order him around, idiot.   
"Okay."   
"How the fuck old are you? That man, much as I don't fucking like him, man a good fucking point." How old am I? I bite my lip while thinking about it. I'm not entirely sure, actually. I don't even know when my birthday is. What year I was born. I grab my notebook to start writing my answer.   
'I think I'm nineteen. Maybe twenty. I don't really know. You?" Might as well ask him. Funny how neither one of us ever asked. I mean I always thought it rude to ask him that.   
"You don't fucking know how old you fucking are? Who doesn't know how old they fucking are? What? Did you live under a fucking rock?" He asks. Okay DON'T answer my question.   
'I was locked in a basement the year prior to the apocalypse, yes. Before that, I had no real concept of time in the sense of years. I don't know when my birthday is or what year I was born. I just know I should be between nineteen and twenty.' That's the best explanation I have so far.   
"Jesus fucking Christ. Fucking locked in a fucking- " He laughs. His head gets tossed back. "I can't fucking tell you how much I want that ot be a fucking joke." He hands my notebook back while continuing to laugh. "You know you don't have to fucking cover yourself. I don't give a shit about your fucking scars. You mind if I see em?"  
See them? I look back down at my lap. Feels sickening to go from hiding, very carefully hiding, to him being curious about them. Not wanting to hurt me just because I HAVE them. I don't even know if it's rude for him to ask me that. It strikes me as slightly...personal. And yeah, I want to be with him, but I don't just want to tell him everything about me. What if he turns it back around on me? My sleeves are over my arms so no one asks, or gets angry. Every time I look at them, any of them really, I feel sick. Or scared. It hurts thinking about how I acquired them.   
"Y-yeah." I just need to remove myself from the fucking bed. And then....take my shirt off. I guess. "Why?" I ask as I start to push myself up. It really hurts. There's a huge pulling sensation in my side where I was shot. That's the stitches, obviously. But then there's the deeper pain with my rib. And that one hurts a LOT more. I scoot myself to the edge of the bed, suppressing as much of my stupid groans as I can, and stop when my legs are dangling over the edge. "Dizzzzzzz-z-zy." My vision blurs a little. It almost feels like my head is lulling all over the place.   
"Okay that wasn't the best fucking idea. You need to fucking rest. I'm fucking sorry." I feel his hands on my upper arms after that. Then the bed is under me.   
"Fuck." I put my hand over the wound. "They packed me. And...apparently drugged me." Yay. I'm no stranger to the sedatives people use. If anything, my body is somewhat used to them. "Two days. Dehydrated...." I shake my head. "Blood loss."   
"I gave you my fucking blood. You should be fucking fine. They had you on an IV, I don't see why they took it the fuck out. And no, you're not on anymore fucking drugs. I'm not stupid. I wouldn't let them." YOUR blood? He's been taking care of me. I can't hide the smile this time. I don't want to. It feels like there's been an emotional roller coaster going on today. Just in the last...what? Ten minutes? However long I've been awake. "Used to be fucking hard to get you to fucking smile." He mutters. He smirks when he meets my eyes this time. I just have to look away so I won't feel weird.   
"Why.....why do you WANT to see me?" I ask. ""Why d-didn't....did-didn't yyyyou j-just go?" He has other wives. Other friends. I don't feel like I'm that important.   
"I do what I fucking want. I thought we established that alfuckingready.'' I nod. "Alright then. Don't fucking ask me why I do what the fuck I do. Far as I'm fucking concerned, the sooner you're fucking comfortable with me seeing those fucking scars, the sooner I can get you in my fucking bed." Ugh of course. It's always about sex. And yeah, I want that. I want that a lot. But it's not ALL I want. Best not to dwell on that right now. We can handle it later. When I CAN move and function properly.   
"Ssssssso I-I'm here ffffor. ....a-afew m-more days." Breathe. "Y-you shhhhhould g-go. L-like you sssssaid. Y-you hhhave their p-peop-ple. Y-you being hhhhere is a rrrrrisk." HE could get held hostage. It would be better if it were just me. Less of a hindrance. I'm quiet. They won't...hate me. And hopefully they won't hurt me. In they use me....he can cut me loose. I hardly matter.   
"I'm not fucking leaving you here alone. You're fucking terrified of people." He reasons quietly. Though he has a smile on his face. I suppose the statement is correct.   
"So? I-I'll just be hhhhere. T-till yyyyou c-come-come b-back. B-bare-barely hhhhhave to d-deal wwwwith th-them." HE really really shouldn't risk it. "Be-bes-beside-" I growl and grab my notebook, holding a hand up so he won't talk over me. Which he seems to find funny, because he smiles.   
'This way, you'll miss me. All week without me, you're going to be missing the shit out of me. Maybe...a goodbye kiss or something. But then you leave and then you miss me.' There. I actually smile when I hand it to him. He reads it over, grinning the whole time. Good to know that didn't piss him off. I don't know how to flirt. This is me trying. I mean he flirts with me all the time. I always respond, I've just never initiated before. He snickers.   
"Fucking goodbye kiss? What the fuck do you take me for? A teenager?" He asks. Which scares me. He's scaring me with that. I went the wrong way with it. I shouldn't have phrased it like that. It was stupid. He laughs again. "I'm fucking joking. Lighten the fuck up. It's too fucking late for me to leave right the fuck now. If you want me the fuck gone, I'll leave in the fucking morning." He offers. Okay I can breathe. I lean my head back against the pillow again.   
"I got shot." I whisper. "And I'm.....flirting with yyyyyyou v-via n-note-notebook. WWwwhat the fffuck is mmmmmy l-life?" I ask. "I got shot." I mumble again. My palms press into my eyes. I've been shot before. It hurts. But that was....once in the shoulder, and the other was the leg. And they both really hurt.   
"You're doing a shitty fucking job of fucking flirting with me. You got shot with a fucking arrow. That's hardly shot. It shouldn't fucking count, Doll. You're taking it fucking weird. You have shit for fucking priorities." I giggle.   
"Yeah. That-that'sssss tr-true. Ssssorry." I guess. "I-I guess....I'm-i'm u-used to pain. Nnnnot used to......peop-people c-caring?" I reach up, albeit gently and carefully, before pushing the right shoulder of my shirt down. His smiling face immediately turns to that of complete anger when he see's the scar. "D-do you? Care?" I almost flinch away from him when he reaches for me. But he's just going for the scar.   
"Care about you? Because fucking yes. If I didn't I wouldn't fucking be here. I'd have someone waiting for you, or I'd have fucking brought you back to the Sanctuary by now. Who the fuck did this?" He asks. My eyes close. I can't be this close to him without being confused o shit and scared. But I like the closeness.   
"A-a chhhhhild." He's not backing off. I can FEEL his presence just a few inches away. "I wwwwant-wanted to hhhhhelp. A-and.....shhhhe......shot me. T-took mmmmy ffffood. I-I do nnnnnnot l-like ch-children." He chuckles at me. His fingers feel nice. No one ever touches me without trying to hurt me. Without it being somewhat forced and angry. Or erratic. My hand grabs his wrist before he can pull it away. It's a stupid action, but I do't much care. I feel safe.   
"Good. I don't care for them my fucking self. They're needy, and fucking snot bags." His wrist, his entire arm from what I've seen, is very hairy. I can feel all the muscles, just in his wrist. I look down at it. All the roughness of it, and yet he isn't hurting me. It's.....interesting.   
"I'm-I'm sorry." I let him go and lay back a little. "Whhhhere.....where are y-you staying t-to-tonight?" I ask. Not sure why it matters. I doubt he'll be safe anywhere. But I AM curious.   
"Right fuckin here." He answers. In a chair? I finally meet his eye again. He doesn't seem to have an agenda of any kind, but he IS still glaring at my shoulder. I reach back up and right my shirt.   
"Where here?" I ask quieter. He's almost too close. My mind can't make itself up on whether or not it wants him here or not. He stand up straight before smiling down at me in a very Negan way.   
"Where the fuck do you think?" He asks. I look around the room. It's small here. I think it's actually an actual house. This and one other bed, which is covered in something that I don't have the desire to know what it is, are the only beds in the room. Though there are two chairs by that bed and only the one by mine. EKG machine by mine, but no longer hooked up to me. It looks like we're in the living area and the dining area. Then I look back up at him and shrug.   
"Ob-obvi-vioussssly n-not thhhhhere." I nod to the other bed. "Sssssso.........hhhhhere?" I ask. Why share a bed? I've never even done that without being afraid for my life. Or of being punished for being bad. The only person that ever slept with me was the first guy, and sometimes Ivan when he was tired and weird.   
"Move the fuck over." He orders.   
The bed is really fucking small. How will i fit us both? And what if it brings up more memories? What if I'm not good enough? What if I screw this up and he hates me? What if he wants to just screw with my head and he doesn't give a shit about me? What is it even like to be in a bed with him? he's not exactly HUGE, like wide, but he's tall. It wouldn't surprise me if his feet hung off the edge. It takes a second, and serious effort, but I get over to the very edge of the bed. There still doesn't seem to be enough room. It's okay. You're fine.   
"I-is....is it ok-okay t-to do thhhis?" I ask quietly. What if the other people come back and get mad? What if I shouldn't be doing this at all? I know Negan's in charge, but they hate him. He doesn't seem to care at all since he's already climbed into the bed. We're pressed up against each other tightly. At least he isn't against my wound. Though it really DOES hurt. Especially to breathe or move in any way.   
"I don't fucking care. You'll fucking live. I don't fucking trust you alone here with them. I'm not fucking leaving until I fucking have to." My eyes widen when he removes his coat.   
"Negan- " I look away when he goes for his shirt. Breathe. You have to breathe. He won't hurt you. He practically promise he wouldn't. You're safe. The more I tense up, the more pain I'm in. I should be comfortable with him. He's safe. HE won't hurt me. Stop tensing up. Fuck my stomach hurts. "Rrrrr-re-rem-rem-rem- " I grab my notebook again.   
'Remind me to never get shot again.' I don't look at him when I hand it to him. I'm afraid. Yes, I know that's weak. It's pathetic. But right now......I don't care. There's no changing it. It makes him laugh, that's what counts. Keep him happy, that's what matters.   
"I shouldn't fucking have to. I DO have to fucking punish that fucker. Have any fucking suggestions as to how? He shot YOU, not me." Me? Punish HIM? I swallow hard, laying my head back. Or GOING to lay my head back. It hits something solid, making me flinch forward. It hurts to fucking move that fast. "Relax." He orders.   
It's just his arm. Which, by the way is very fucking muscular. Probably from all the swinging of Lucille he does. He's got it stretched out behind me. Right in the way of the pillow. I think I remember seeing that in movies. Using arms as pillows or something. But all I'm seeing is him getting mad at me FOR using it. Maybe I should stop reading into everything. He's just there. I should just relax. It's fine. Right? The muscles, though. They could easily break bones if he wanted to. He's very strong, I've seen him in action. The only reason Lucille works for him is because of his strength.   
"You never fucking share a bed?" He asks. I glance at him before quickly looking away. He's shirtless. Fucking shirtless.   
"No. Nnnnot......n-not...." I shake my head. Don't think about it. You think about it, you cry. You can't keep crying. "I-I don't....d-don't knnnnnnow wwwwhat to e-ex-expect. Or do." I admit. It makes him laugh. I mean yeah, I've had my head on his lap before, but I've never laid fully beside him pressed against him with his arm around me.   
"Let me give you a few fucking tips. Lay the fuck down. Fucking relax. And if you try something sexual I'll kindly fucking tell you to stop. Not because I don't want to fuck you senseless, because I fucking do, but you're injured. I'm not fucking stupid. Just lay the fuck back." He explains. Anything sexual. I wouldn't. I'm not one to make the advances. The kiss was still initiated by him. But I swallow and nod before forcing myself to lay back.   
He's very warm. That's the first thing I notice. Granted it probably helps that he's not wearing a shirt. No fabric to slow the movement of body heat. My arm, my right arm, is sort of resting on his lower chest. And his arm is just under the base of my skull. When I lay back, he curls his arm so his hand rests on my left shoulder. Well, more lower on the arm towards my bicep, but it might as well be my shoulder. I think my head is just next to his shoulder. I can't relax. He seems perfectly fine. Not fair, if I may say it.   
'Getting shot with an arrow totally fucking counts.' Have to talk. I can't not have conversation. It's way too awkward. I feel like I'm sweating through my shirt. And I'm fucking tired, every time I tense up, it's like someone stabs me in the side.   
"Doesn't fucking count." He argues.   
'Why not? I have a hole in me.' He laughs at that one. I never noticed how much a person moved when they laugh. Every part of him either tenses, twitches, or full on shifts when he laughs. Even his hand, the one on my arm.   
"I'll give you that. But if it's not a fucking bullet, it doesn't fucking count. This fucking counts." He pats m right shoulder with his hand. I can't help smiling. "But that doesn't fucking count. At all. Anyone asks you, you were fucking shot once with a fucking gun. And once with a fucking arrow." I just nod at him. He has that joking tone to him, but he sounds serious. He's taking this way too serious. Maybe it's a serious thing. He has a few scars on his chest, but nothing notable. Nothing like a gunshot. I flinch when I realize I'm staring, and look away from him.   
"Okay." That's what I'll say. I guess. If it's what he wants from me. "Shhhot with an-an-an-an ar-arrow." YOu're talking too much. "G-guess-guess i-it got mmmme in b-be-bed wwwwith yyyyou." Stop talking. You're just embarrassing yourself. I want to squirm a little when he strokes my arm with a small chuckle.   
"You fucking WANT to be in fucking bed with me, all you have to fucking do is ask." He offers. I smile at the sink across the room from us. "You think I'm going to fucking hurt you if you relax?" He asks after a few minutes. HE seems perfectly relaxed. Me, I'm....nowhere near. And the pain in my side is only going to get worse if I don't relax a little. To answer his question, I nod. Relaxation always gets me hurt or in trouble. Unless I'm alone. "Don't. I won't. So fucking relax." He orders.   
"I can't just fucking relax." I argue. Hey, no stutter. Whoop whoop. That's pretty good for someone like me. Wow. I shake my head at him. "Not p-po-po-posssssib-ble. Nnnnot....." I shake my head again. I'd have removed myself from his grip already if it didn't hurt to so much as breathe.   
"Not easy. It isn't fucking impossible." He shoots back. "You not fucking tired?" He asks. I nod.   
"I am. Just....." His eyebrows lift curiously. He has too much patience when it comes to me. I don't understand why. "Y-you." I find myself biting my lip again.   
"Me. I fucking scare you? Just by being in the same fucking bed?" He asks. No. Well....sort of.   
"I-I t-t-t-t- " He smirks when I growl at myself. At least he isn't angry.   
'I told you I'm not used to intimacy. Not to mention every time I so much as breathe my side hurts. And now it feels.....weirder with you being normal. I'm not used to normal." He reads that and looks at me again. I have to close my eyes in order to think straight. Show him. My nose twitches before I huff and carefully move so I can show him the scar on the back of my neck. I keep my hair down most of the time so no one asks.   
"The fuck?" He asks. It's a bite. Like....a fucking genuine human bite.   
'Last time I was in a bed with a man, he gave me that because he was mad that I didn't seem scared. And because he was in a bad mood. And......because he was just a bad person.' I lay my head back down on his arm, releasing a shaky breath while he reads. You must breathe.   
"I already fucking told you I won't fucking do that." He sounds like he's getting angry. I should stop while I'm ahead. He shouldn't be angry. Keep him happy. Stop fighting him on this. I nod my head. Whatever you say.   
My left hand keeps clutching my side. The pain's getting worse. It's not the rib, I mean it IS, obviously. But not what really hurts. It's the hole in my side that's hurting. It tore through muscle and skin. Probably chipped my rib if nothing else. It'll hurt for a good while. Broken ribs usually hurt for a few weeks before they stop hurting. Cracked ribs, I'm not sure. But I assume it would be less time. And the hole will heal up before then. I hope. The pain will be gone in a few weeks. As the minutes tick by, and Negan doesn't speak, I begin to slowly relax. Not by my choice or anything, I just...I'm tired.   
"You've known me for sic fucking months." He comments. Come on, let me sleep. Please.   
"Mmm." Is all I give him. My head keeps falling to the side, facing him. Him stroking my, well his hand has moved up to just by my ear now, is helping.   
"Evelyne." I think he's trying to get my attention. Wake up. He sounds lazier now. Meaning he's just as tired if not more so than I am. My eyes blink before looking up at him. For once he doesn't look like he's trying to plot against someone, or like he's being playful, or angry. He looks pretty calm.   
"Yes Negan?" I ask.   
"Nothing. It's a good fucking name. You should keep it." He shakes his head. It's a small movement, but I catch it. His words make me smile.   
"No one's said that bef-b-be-bef-before. Thank you." He really likes my name? I've....literally no one's ever said that. It's nice to hear. But I don't know what to do about it. Do I compliment him back? Do I thank him again? Kiss him? No, he said to rest. But what do I do? Just relax. Remember? Like he said. And sleep. Yeah. Sleep sounds fucking amazing around right now.   
My head lulls to the side again, and this time I don't bother stopping it. I'm fucking tired.


	10. Sleeping Tiger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up, yo.

"Mm." I flinch.   
My forehead comes into contact with something hard and...fleshy? For a moment I think I'm in bed with Ivan, but when I open my eyes it's just Negan. Then there's a sharp pain in my side and I'm brought to reality. I was shot. I remember that now. I was shot. Don't wake him up. He's still sleeping peacefully next to you. Don't fucking wake him up. I have to hold my breath in order NOT to wake him, and let it out slowly. His arms are around me and he's on his side facing me. I'm enveloped in him. He snores. It's....cute. I mean I knew he snored, but this close up it's much different.   
He's skinnier than he looks. His collar bones actually jut out of his chest neck area. His shoulder bones to the dame, out of the tops of his shoulders. They look tough as hell. The muscles in his arms jut out in waves and Valleys all the way down to his wrist. And he's hairy. I didn't expect less, I just wasn't sure exactly WHAT to expect. There's an almost thick layer of hair on his chest on and between his pecs. It get's much thinner the lower it goes. His beard is almost tickling my mouth with how close his face is. His breath smells awful, but there's not much else to expect in the apocalypse.   
His beard is less black and more grey up close. And his hair is black. Definitely black. Messy when it's not combed back. It looks good on him. His eyes are weird this close. Like....relaxed. He isn't thinking for once. He's just sleeping. I wonder if he's dreaming. If he is, what about. His breathing is even and relaxed. Deep. Every time he exhales, or almost every time, there's a snore that accompanies it. It's hard to hold back laughter. I want nothing more than to giggle at him. He's actually managed to get one of my hands to touch his chest. It's how I know for a fact he's breathing. I'm touching him on his side where his stomach expands every time he inhales.   
"Good. You're awake. You can leave."   
The voice is off to my left. Sort of behind me, but not really since I'm still technically laying on my back. Her voice is firm, comanding like that of a leader. Someone in charge. She isn't afraid to be IN charge. She looks tougher than she did last night. Much tougher. She's lost that elfish glow, there's nothing smiley about her now. She looks tired, and she looks irritated. She reminds me of Ivan's wife. Resentful. She's standing halfway across the room with a big knife on her hip. While she looks old, she also really doesn't. There's energy in her.   
"You need to leave." I look at Negan again. I still want to smile at him. He's got one of his legs thrown over mine. I'm pinned. But right now I don't mind. I've never been in this position before. It's kind of scary, but at the same time it's not. "Get plenty of bed rest for the next few days if you want to be able to move." She's moving around now, but I'm not really paying attention.   
"Negan." I whisper. Shouldn't wake him. Maybe I'll just go back to sleep. I should. I'm tired. My head settles back down on his arm while I let my eyes drift shut. It's never been this easy to relax around someone before. It feels, dare I say it, safe here. He likes my name.   
"Hey." Negan jerks awake. His grip on me tightens, his left arm hits my still bandaged wound quite hard. I squeak in pain and jump away from it. FUCK ow. Fucking jerkface motherfucking shithead. Ouch.   
"Fucking what the fuck do you mother fucking want?" He growls. The lady is on his side of the bed. By the looks of it, she hit him. Which is stupid. His gaze falls onto me in the next few moments.   
"It's daylight. The roads are clear, you need to leave now. We need the bed for someone more important." Again, Negan's grip tightens. She's a scary fucking lady. What if SHE hurts us? Or just him? She looks like someone that could do something like that.   
"Evelyne." Negan pulls my attention back to him. He gives me a weird lazy smile. It's.....awesome on him. No teeth this time, just a smile. "She's not fucking going anywhere." His voice is amazing when he's still tired. Has a lazy tone to it, and there's no hint of anger. He's just....Negan.   
"She's fine. She can leave." The lady practically growls. Fuck what if she hurts us? WE should just go.   
"I-I can go. It'sssss fine." I offer him quietly. He just shakes his head at me.   
"That fucker that fuckin shot her. I want him in here right fuckin now. And I mean right fuckin now. Underfuckingstand?" He looks over his shoulder at the lady. His glare is hard and demanding. If it could burn holes into her, she'd be dead by now.   
"You're not gonna kill him." Negan laughs.   
"I'll do whatever the fuck I want to him. Get. Him. Now. Or you'll all have to fucking pay." He warns. Fuck NOW he sounds angry. Now I can't not look at him. Is he going to hurt someone? Me? I shouldn't have gotten shot in the first place. This is my fault. We could be home right now. He could be relaxed instead of here. The lady just turns o her heels and rushes out of the building. "Now. She's fucking gone." He smiles at me that Negan way of smiling. Toothy once again.   
"Mmmmad?" I ask him quietly. All he does is shake his head.   
"I'm in a good fucking mood. A great fucking mood." He answers. Oh. That's good. I relax a little at that one. "Did you think otherwise?" He laughs.   
"Y-you're.....you're j-just vvvvverrrrry con-conf-confus-sing. I-it's....t-too early ffffor conf-fus-fusing." I put a hand over my eyes and yawn. Way too early. What time even IS it? "D-did...." He starts running his fingers over my side. Even through my shirt I can feel it. When I look at him, he's staring at me. And it feels really weird. "Y-you ssssleep w-well?" I ask. Stupid. I'm too awkward.   
"I only fucking sleep well in my own fucking bed, sweetheart. You feel the fuck asleep fast. Cute." Cute? I smirk and shake my head.   
"Says you." I mumble. I'm not cute. I'm not anything. Just injured. And in bed with you. I grab his hand, the one running over my side, and try to pry if off me. It tickles. But instead, Negan has his own ideas of what he's going to do with m hand. Like....fucking grabbing it and pinning it to my side.   
"Says fucking me is fucking right. I tell you you're something, you better fucking believe it." He growls. I have to close my eyes since his voice is directly in my ear. And it's low. And it's sexy. Shit. "Understand?" I want to shiver at the low tone of his voice. It's like it's emanating from his chest.   
"Uh-huh." I answer quietly. His other hand, I feel it on my stomach. Part of me, actually most of me, shies away from the touch. But there IS another part that's telling me to calm down. It's just Negan. I lean my head back again. Force yourself to relax. We both jerk a little when the front door opens. So much for having a moment. The lady and the man that shot me walk in. Neither look like they're in a good mood. Both look a little worried.   
"You." Negan straightens a little. "Mind letting me the fuck up, Doll?" He asks me. I look at him and nod. It takes a bit of doing, but he helps me sit up. After that he removes himself from the bed. Shit if he isn't hot as hell. The muscles in his back stand out while he....I don't know. He emits the look of complete leadership and confidence. He's not afraid at all to be shirtless. And I've seen him before. I have. Just.....I don't know. This feels different. "YOU, shot one of my fucking people. Just so fucking happens that she's my favourite fucking body guard." Great. He's got Lucille back in his hands. The other two look nervous. They should. He's unpredictable. "Now SHE doesn't want me hurting anyone. And I'm a fucking nice guy. I'm fucking nice, right, Doll?" He asks me. Oh great. You're putting me on the spot now. Yay. I look between him and the others before nodding my head. "See? I'm fucking nice. Now I took all fucking night. And I mean ALL fucking night to think about this." But you were asleep this morning. He's joking. Or trying to scare them. Don't be stupid, Evelyne. The door to the house opens and a couple other people walk in. Rick....Rick the prick I think is what Negan's been calling him. The woman with the deadlocked hair, too. She's here. Okay.   
"Wait." Rick holds a hand up. Negan just looks extremely amused. Maybe he should. Maybe this is a good thing? I don't know. "We took care of her. She's alive. The whole thing was an accident. You can just go." He offers. His eyes are always wide when he's talking to Negan. It's like he's....oh yeah. He SHOULD be terrified. At least he's not killing us.   
"Oh I can go?" Negan asks. Now you've done it. Rick the Prick shifts where he stands.   
"That's not- "   
"I can go. I CAN go. I can fucking go. I don't want to fucking go anywhere!" I flinch. Don't hurt anyone. "Now. I'm fucking reasonable. I might not fucking kill one of you. But I DO have two of your people. Now she's worth much fucking more than that to me. You don't want me to fucking kill anyone, right Doll?" He asks me. I meet his eye. Why are you asking me? I shake my head. This is a very fucking strange and stupid morning. "See? She doesn't want anyone fucking dead. Technically she's the one fucking hurt here. SO. What's a fitting fucking punishment for you?" He asks them.   
"We never wanted this- "   
"I would certainly fucking HOPE not!" Stop flinching, Evelyne. "The punishment, since I'm so fucking generous, is simple. She stays for a week- "   
"We can't spare the supplies- "   
"Carol!" Rick yells. Too much yelling. Way too much yelling. "She stays for a week." He nods. I don't WANT to stay for a week. I want to get out of here. I look to Negan, just as he grins again.   
"Look at you, you're already fucking learning. She stays until I come the fuck back to fucking get her. You will fucking make sure she fucking makes it until then. And YOU." He points a very stiff finger at the man that shot he. He looks pissed. The man, not Negan. "You get the privilege of seeing to it that she DOES fucking make it. Fucking sit by her fucking bedside until I walk back through that door. Do not so much as fucking make her fucking cry, I will fucking end you." Wait HE has to? You're leaving me with a MAN that i don't know? I knew you hated me. The least you can do is kill me. Is he even going to come back for me?   
"We can do that. Daryl, you can do that." Daryl? I guess that's his name. He looks like he wants to fight. Like he's going to kill someone. But he isn't looking at me. Which is good.   
"Fucking SAY you'll fucking do it or I fucking end the two I took right fucking now." Negan orders. So I really have to stay here. That's fucking bullshit. But...whatever he wants.   
"Daryl." Rick rick glares at him with wide eyes. Fuck, I hope I don't hurt anyone. I mean I hope I don't get anyone hurt.   
"Yeah whatever." He mutters. His voice is like a chainsaw it's so gravle-y. Negan grins at them with a sly look in his eye. The lady that Rick came in with keeps looking me over. Her eyes are brown, dark brown like melted chocolate. Narrowed like she's looking for the plot, or the trick. She see's things. More than she lets on. That, and she has a really cool fucking sword.   
"Good. You can all fucking go. But YOU, don't go too fucking far. I wanna talk to you before I leave. Rick the fucking Prick, you don't need to fucking be here anymore. Class dismissed." Negan waves Lucille in a way that says 'get the fuck out before you all die', and manages to hold the smile on his face. He looks like a....I don't know. He doesn't seem real, standing there shirtless. Not like this. Hair messed up, Lucille on his shoulder, muscles in his back and chest showing themselves. If anything, it's slightly more frightening than if he were in his normal leather jacket.   
I'm torn between being in pain, being cared, and being completely flustered by Negan. The pain in my side won't let up. Not even a little bit. It's a burning sort of feeling on the outside. Just like when you get a cut. It burns. The stitches are pulling at my skin as well. Annoyingly so. Movement is limited. And my chest hurts because I'm stupid and getting more nervous at the situation we're in. Is Negan mad at me, or is he really caring about me? Does he even HAVE emotions? Yes, he does. He's laughed, and I mean laughed so hard he's cried before. So he's got SOME emotions in him. He needs companionship or he wouldn't have so many wives.   
"Carol." Rick urges the woman that I think has been tending to my wound.  
She doesn't seem to want to leave the room. But everyone else is already just about out the door. Negan needs to get to safety before something goes wrong. So many things could go wrong for him in this moment. The group leaves after a minute of silent glaring. They're weird. Full of hate. What made them have so much? Granted, they had family before the apocalypse hit. But that's not.....I mean why are they so BITTER about everything?   
"Good. Now, you look like you have fucking questions." Negan turns his attention back to me once the door is shut. I'm having a hard time not staring at his chest. It's nerve wracking that it's right there. Half of me has it's own desires, while the other half is still terrified of what sex would do.   
"J-Just....." I close my eyes. "A-are you sssssssure ab-about thhhis? I-I can mmmmake i-it back."   
"You're probably fucking right about that. But I'm not going to take that fucking chance. If we get caught out there and you're in this fucking condition you're just a liability that I won't fucking leave behind." So I'll slow him down, is what he's trying to say. "Would you prefer me beating the holy fuck out that fucker? I'm fine with it, but you're still stayin the fuck here till you can walk around and move without hurtin yourfuckingself." My eyes are forced open when his hand grabs my shoulder. I hate that my body flinches away from the touch.   
"You-you're....you''re c-co-commmming b-back right? Nnnot just.....go-gonna leave mmmme here?" I ask him. He frowns at me. Deeply frowns at me.   
"Didn't I fucking tell you to stop fucking insulting me?" He asks. I flinch again and nod. Yup. Okay. No more questions. Understood. "I'm coming the fuck back in a fucking week. You'd better be fucking okay when I get the fuck back or you'll be in fucking trouble. I mean it. No more of this getting yourself shot." He's joking now. Heat rises to my face almost painfully. "I see another fucking hole in you, someone will fucking die. Painfully." He's sitting on the side of my bed now. He's being jokative, but serious at the same time. Like there's layers to what he's saying. Meaning behind the playfullness of his words. He's making sure I stay safe. He's...being protective.   
'Miss me while I'm gone. That's my condition for being okay when you come back'. He laughs full heartedly at that. I groan as I sit up, but I want to sit up. I need to get higher up so I can look at him.   
"You have conditions?" He asks. His accent gets thicker when he's laughing. It's sexy. Something I never thought I'd like about anyone was an accent like his, but he really makes it worth listening to.   
'Everything costs something. Welcome to the new world.' Again, he laughs.   
"Yes Ma'am. What makes you fucking think I'll fucking miss you?" He asks. I smile at him while he hands my notebook back.   
'You know I'm the only one that can make you laugh so often. And like you said, I'm a pretty face. Couple that with my sparkling personality, you won't be able to take it. I give it two days before you have to be held back.' I chew on my lip while he reads over what I've said. He loses he smile at one point, which is worrying, but grins by the time he finishes.   
"Sweetheart no one can hold me the fuck back from getting whatever the fuck I want. Six days, Evelyne. You better fucking miss me." He stands again.  
About the time he reaches for his coat is the time the dread kicks in. And not only does it feel like a bucked of water, but it hurts physically. My side aches more when I'm scared, I guess. He's distracting enough. Watching him put the white shirt back over his head. His muscles stretching in strange ways while he moves. His shoulders are very strong looking. There must be a seriously low body fat to muscle ratio on him. That's how it looks. There's a dip down the center of his back that I'd kill to run my fingers over.   
"I will." No doubt about it. He stuffs his shirt into his pants before putting his coat on. The leather jacket just....makes him him. It's the normal him that everyone's used to seeing. And he's amazing. "I alwwwways d-do." I mumble more to myself than to him. It catches me off guard when he takes a seat on the bed again.   
"I'm coming the fuck back." It's weird that he's reiterating that statement.   
"N-negan what..." I lean back when he leans forward towards me. It only makes him give me a weird look. It says 'fucking relax' and even if it's just a raised eyebrow, I understand. Relax. Right. Once he's just a few inches away, it's hard to look at him. But I get the hint when his eyes close. Oh, that's happening. Okay.....  
My gulp is audible. If my heart were beating any faster I'm sure he'd be able to hear it. Maybe he can. I keep having to tell myself it's okay. He won't hurt me. He's not them. It helps a lot, actually. His lips touch mine, and after that it's pretty intense. He's....sort of rough with it. A hand going around the back of my neck, but not to make me kiss him. His beard tickles and burns at the same time. Within a few seconds he's pulled away and kissed me again. Makes a noise that makes me want to laugh.   
Then it's all a little more rough. He licks my bottom lip, which gets me to open my mouth for him. It's not a battle like I've read in books. I don't even know how tongue's CAN battle. His sort of takes my mouth without a fight. It feels really weird. Great when it's wanted instead of forced. His beard seems to have a mind of it's own as well. It's like it's scratching around my mouth and cheeks at the same time it's pulling me in for more. After some time, he grabs my side and pulls on me. But that doesn't really work because OUCH! I groan at him and push his hand down. If you're going to grab me, try not to grab my shot up side. Please.   
Which is when he goes for my hip. And that's a ticklish spot that I didn't realize I had. Again, there's pain. But that's because I've giggled and the action hurts more than I'd care to admit. But he laughs, too. Shit if it's not a really fucking sexy laugh to hear coming from him at this close a proximity. It's like I'm being tickles, but inside my stomach. He's making me feel so weird. But for once the fear of the situation isn't worse than the want to go further with him. Maybe not further, but stay in this moment.   
"You gonna touch me or do I gotta fuckin show you how?" He asks while biting my lower lip. Touch him?   
"Where?" I ask him quietly. He laughs again.   
"Thought you knew how to fuck?" He asks. that strikes a chord. A painful one. I pull away from him and glare down at my lap. That's just....yeah sure. I know how to fuck. I do. Doesn't mean that's what's going on here. "We're not going to fuck." Go fucking figure.   
'I'm not a fucktoy.' I want to throw the fucking notebook at him. That's honestly how angry that comment makes me. I shouldn't be mad and I know it, but I am. 'thought you knew how to fuck'? Really? Classy. Nice come on. I'm swooning over your ability to seduce me. Asshole.   
"No. You're not fucking fuck toy. Jesus, Lynne." Oh YOU'RE mad?   
This is when the anger drains away slowly, replacing itself with more self hatred then I've felt in a long time. He should just leave me here. Leave and never come back. I can wait until I'm better, or just leave now. Not like anyone wants me here, anyways. Right? I'm not worth anything. I'm just a fuck to Negan. He knows what I was now, so he thinks it'll be better somehow. Like I'm skilled or something. That's it, right? That's why he's finally kissing me and wanting to fuck me even more? if that's what he wants......I can't do that. I won't be that again. I can't.   
"You need to fucking relax every fucking now and then. Was that too fucking much for you?" He asks through a sigh. Too much? I shrug.   
'Just a kiss. Easier than the last one. Harder than the next one. If there's going to be a next one.' I sigh at myself. 'So Daryl, he's the one that shot me, right?' I ask. He reads over the notebook with a frown on his face.   
"There will be a fucking next one. Look, I didn't mean to fucking phrase that shit like that. Alright? And yes. Daryl fucking shot you. Which reminds me I have to fucking punish him. You can handle him fucking watching over you, correct?" He asks. He stands before handing my notebook back.   
'I can handle anything. Have to, right?' That's supposed to be a joke. He doesn't take it as one.   
"HE gives you any fucking hit at fucking ALL, " He takes something out of one of his many pockets. Hey, it's a radio. I mean a walkie. Or whatever the fuck they're called. I've never gotten one yet because I don't talk enough to need one. "Fucking radio me. I'l lbe here in a fucking hour." He hands it to me, and I don't think I've ever...gotten a gift before.   
"What....." I smirk. "What d-do I hhhhave to d-do ffffor it?" I ask. His frown turns to a look of slight confusion before the smile on my face gives the joke away.   
"Survive the fuckin week without gettin shot again. How's that sound?" He asks.   
"Doable." I answer quietly. "C-can I.....u-use it to j-jussssst t-talk-talk to yyyyou?" I ask. I have my computer with me. Partly because I'm weird, and I don't like leaving it behind. It's part of my to go pack. There's outlets here, and electricity. I can charge it and use it. Maybe I can continue writing? And listen to music if it's not a bother to the people here.   
"Depends on my fucking mood. Check in three times a fuckin day. Got it? I'll be back is six fucking days." Shit he's leaving now. Fuck. Fuck. Six days. He's going to come back. You're safe. It's okay. He walks to the door with Lucille in hand before he opens and leaves without so much as looking back.


	11. Daryl's Being Mean To Me!

Two Days Later. 

 

"Stop it with that thing will ya?" Daryl orders before snatching the notebook from my hands. I go to protest, but I really can't.   
He's been doing that since after the first day. The first day I was here I slept when I could. And he was very....distant to say the least. He sort of paced around the infirmary all day. Brought me food, that was actually really good, and glared a lot. Not even at me, though. He just...fucking glares at everything around him. The second morning I woke up almost screaming at a nightmare I was having. That was painful, but it got him curious about me. Once he realized I stuttered, he made a point of NOT letting me use my notebook. The prick.   
He interrogated me about why I was around Negan. Asked about him being my father. Or an abusive boyfriend. Even asked if I was his slave or something. Which made me flinch. But hey, it's reasonable. I hate him so much for not letting me use my notebook. He's a prick for taking it from me. It seemed like the questions would never stop. One after the other about Negan, and I refused to answer anything about him because I'm not stupid. But he finally gave up on the subject after most of the day passed.   
Carol, that's the lady's name that looked like an elf before. Now she's more of an evil elf, and she's not very nice. But it's not like I'd expect her to be nice to me. I don't want to be here. She doesn't want me here. It always looks like she wants to take my head off. It doesn't help my nerves much that she changes my bandage once a day. Always checking to the stitches to make sure I'm healing well or whatever. She checks on me a good three or four times a day to make sure I'm still alive. Doesn't say anything to me, either. She terrifies me more than Daryl, and that's because I've seen the look in her eyes before. The resentment.   
"C-come o-on." I complain. Today, since I woke up to more nightmares, he's started asking questions about them. It's like he's finally given up on the silent treatment he was giving me since yesterday at lunch.   
"Answer the question." He challenges. I grab my radio, since it's time for me to check in again. Third and final time today.   
Negan's been pretty good. He checks in every night before he goes to sleep. So we talk about four times a day. At first it was just checking in and a confirmation from him. But yesterday I asked him if things were going good at the Sanctuary. He spent somewhere near a half hour telling me the shit he had to go through. It was funny. He's funny. And then we spent another half hour talking about random things like how it was going here, how I felt, and his plan of action for another small group north of us. Today we went back to the slight flirting thing. But only when Daryl wasn't listening.   
"N-Negan. D-dar-dar-dar-daryl's b-being mmmmmean." I complain before giggling. Then groaning in pain. I've been.....teasing him? I guess? I don't know. Since lunch i just started getting sarcastic with Daryl. He doesn't remotely strike me as the abusive or overly angry type. He's mostly talk from what I've seen. He still scares me, but not as much as he could. Nowhere near as much as everyone else. Like Rick.   
Rick comes in once a day, usually around mid day, to check on me. Sometimes asks me questions that I don't answer. Unless they're just about me. THEN I answer. He's fucking scary. Negan calls him Rick the Prick because he's arrogant. Overestimates his abilities or something like that. He's tall, he's fit, he is ALWAYS covered in sweat, and he never seems to ask anything. Even when he IS asking questions, it sounds like he's ordering you around. He reminds me of David. The second guy that owned me. The one that was never happy with anything I did. Always hated me, but in a.....angsty fuckery kind of way. I never know what to think when he's around. He scares me.   
"Liar." Daryl mutters, leaning back in his chair.   
"How the fuck so, Doll?" Negan asks. He sounds serious enough that I stop wanting to laugh. Fuck, I shouldn't have told him.   
"Sssssorry. Uhm....j-just....n-nev-nevvv-nev-verm-mind. G-good day?" I ask, hoping to change the subject. Daryl starts to flip through the pages of my notebook quietly.   
"Good as it can fucking be right the fuck now. Yuma thinks she's gonna get the fuck away with steppin out on me behind my fucking back." Yuma.....Yuma.....I narrow my eyes.   
"Which one's that?" I ask. Daryl looks back up at me curiously. The guy is honestly very curious about everything.   
"Number fucking one." He answers dryly. Oh shit. He really liked her. I shake my head.   
"Sssorry. Thhhat-that ssssucks. Shhhhhhhe ssst-still b-br-breathing?" I ask. Not that he'd.....kill her. I don't know. He doesn't like sexual violence in the Sanctuary, so being an abusive.....husband? I think that's technically what he is. Being that wouldn't be what he'd do to punish her. Though there are strict rules to being one of his wives. One of those rules is to never step out on him. Or else. I've never seen the 'or else' part, yet, so I'm curious as to what the punishment is.   
"She's fucking fine. The man she fucking fucked is another fucking story. He won't be bad on his goddamn feet for awhile. Never fuckin walk right again. Fucking fucker stuck his dick in MY fucking wife." He growls. I can picture him right now. He's probably kicked back in his office glaring at the wall with the walkie in his hand and a glare on his face.   
"Hold up. He has WIVES? Plural?" Daryl asks me. I don't know if should answer that question. What would Negan want me to say?   
"I'm sor-rry. Thought.....I-I thhhought they en-enj-enjoyed yyyyou." I cringe at the comment. WHY the fuck did I just say that? Fucking weirdo. The next thing I hear is Negan's small laugh over the radio. Good to know he's laughing.   
"Don't be fucking sorry, Doll. Sometimes I'm just too fucking much for them. The good fucking news is, now there's fucking room for you. Number fucking one." That's....no.   
Not even remotely appealing. I don't want to be a number again. I don't want to be one of five, or one of more than one. Is that what's waiting for me if I get with him? A number and a few days in which I get to see him? What would that even be like? Shitty. Sure, I'd get his attention, but not the way I want it. They're there for necessity and title. To survive. Being with him isn't for survival. I want to be with him to be with him. So.....no. I don't want to be a number to him. But what if he doesn't care what I want? What if I'll just be his and that's that?   
"Did I fucking lose you?" He asks after a minute of me contemplating. I look back down at my radio with a small and pained sigh.   
"No." I answer. I really don't just want to be a number. "I-I think.....I'mmmmm g-go-gonna go tto sssssleep-sleep now. Night." I set the radio aside. I know he wants me. But....my body. That's all. So I don't want to be that. do I have to slice my face up so he won't want me? Because I want someone that gives a shit who I am, not just someone that wants sex whenever he asks.   
"Good fucking night, Evelyne." Right. Yeah. That'll happen.   
"Mmay-maybe you shhhould go, too? You sssseem tired." The best part of Daryl being the one 'taking care of me' is the fact that somehow my stuttering has been lessened when he's around. Not like I stopped all together, but it's not so hard to talk to him anymore. He grunts.   
"I ain't goin nowhere till you're asleep." He argues. Ugh. Every night. It's stupid. You've no idea how weird it is trying to fall asleep with someone watching. "The hell does this mean?" He turns my notebook back towards me so I can read what it says.   
'Big bad Wolf has sharp teeth. Little red isn't as afraid as she could be.' Oh that one. I smirk at it. Me and Negan had been discussing......something really stupid. It was on one of our outings. He'd said the dead were the big bad wolf, and us humans were little red. I remember making him laugh when I said that.   
"Thhhhe-the d-d-dead. THey don't sc-scare mmmmme. O-or Neg-negan. But thhhhhey'rrrre dang-danger-erous." I explain quietly. The fabric of the thin blanket resting over my still injured body is soft. Not soft like anything I use at home, but they're still soft. Just never warm. "I'm sorry. I.....I shhhhouldn't hhha-have b-been out there." I mumble. I've been trying to figure out how to apologize since it happened. But I haven't really been able to figure anything out. I guess that's as good as I can get it for right now.   
"You're right. Should have. So why the hell WERE you?" It's hard to distinguish exactly what he's saying sometimes. His voice is....I mean it's a cool voice, just very strange. And grumbled.   
"I....." Didn't want to wait in the truck for once. "Need-needed-needed air. Wwwwwwwhy-why were you out-out-out there?" I ask. The chair he's in creaks and I flinch. Shouldn't ask questions, idiot.   
"Don't wanna watch my home get trashed by your damn pappy." He mutters. Again with that. HE's not my damn father. I don't even remember who my father was.   
"I'm sorry he does that." He's just trying to make a point. You caused a lot of trouble with him. He was honestly almost afraid you were a real match for him with how many people you killed. But none of that is something I'll tell them. Not ever. Negan will tell them what they need to know.   
"Nothin YOU can do about it. Figure you're too damn skiddish to try to stop him." He mutters. True. But I also don't want to. He's doing this as payback for the men you killed. "He hit you? Hurt you?" Ugh, with these stupid questions again.   
"No." I answer. "She hit YOU?" He laughs.   
"Sometimes. I deserve it. Ain't the same with you. Know you're flinchin every time someone moves."   
"Why do you keep asking? It's not your business." Did you SERIOUSLY just say that. I clamp a hand over my mouth while bracing for a hit. Or at least yelling.  
Negan doesn't hit me for talking back. HE's never laid a hand on me, actually. Not violently. Not even to spar. But the instinct to hide is still there. I remember him telling me to calm down when I shot across the room from him for just....saying something off handed. Something that Ivan would have beaten me for. He'd said something along the lines of 'jesus, doll, lighten the fuck up'. That's the moment things changed for me with Negan. When he explained all his rules to me, and all but promised he wouldn't hurt me. Which was a month after we found each other. The same day I became his official body guard.   
"You're right. None o my business. Go to sleep, little girl." He orders. My eyes open, finding him settling back in his chair. He's not going to hit me? His body relaxes in the chair he's in. One hand is resting on the knife he has on his belt. I don't understand why he calls me little girl. Granted, size-wise I'm small, but I'm not that LITTLE.   
"Hhhhhe honst-honstly doesn't hhhhhu-hurt-hurt me. B-but.....peop-p-p-ple u-used to." I lay my head back on the pillow before closing my eyes. I don't even know why I'm telling him this. I Shouldn't be telling him anything. I should just be sleeping this week off.   
"Family?" He asks. I shake my head. "Boyfriend?" No. I've never had one. I'd never dignify what those people were by calling them my boyfriend.   
"Goodnight." It's not so hard to slip into unconsciousness this time.


	12. Outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YOOOO how are you liking it so far? Kind of heavy, I know, but that's only going to get much worse. *Evil laughter* Have fun and see you all next week

"The hell do you dream about that makes you so damn scared?" Oh yes, thank you for mocking my nightmares. Dipsnorkle. Cause that's JUST what I want to think about right now.  
As he's helping me out of the bed to start trying to walk around or whatever. And it hurts a lot to move, but I've had worse. Just breathing through it as much as possible. Hate having screwed ribs. It's my least favourite injury to have. I wouldn't even care if it were my head. Ribs are the universally painful injury. Breathing, moving, and existing always hurts with broken ribs. As soon as I move at all, there's pain. Of course I can get through it, but no matter how many times I've had hurt ribs, they always manage to make me want to give up. But Daryl....he's helping? I don't know. I keep expecting a punch to my gut or something of the sort.   
"Gett-get-get-get-get- " I almost want to break every time I stutter now. Daryl says it's fine, I just have to talk through it. But it's humiliating.   
"Take your time. Ya got a lot of it." I'm finally putting my feet on the floor. It's wooden, but smooth wood. So it's cold when my feet touch it. But I'm on my feet again, so that's great. He's being way overly helpful, and I'm beginning to suspect him of doing or planning something bad. I'd rather not tell him anything about me. I don't......like it when people know. I don't know, I just don't like people knowing.   
"Just night-nightmares." I mutter.   
It hasn't even been a good day. I woke up crying because I had the worst goddamn nightmare. At four in the morning. I've been awake since four. And I'm not even sleeping well. Not because of the pain. Since Negan offered me 'number one' the day before last, I can't think. The nightmares are about Ivan and Negan. Blurring into one person. If I'm his number one, I'm a number. I can't be a number. I woke up this morning thinking Ivan was beating me again so bad that my ribs all broke. And I was coughing up blood. Instead I woke up crying and didn't want to fall asleep again. I don't want to check in with Negan. I don't even want to think about Negan. But......I can't stop. And it's killing me. The stutter is getting fifty times worse, I feel sick, and Daryl is annoying. Today sucks ass.   
"Used to have nightmares." He mumbles. What? I look up at him, since yes, he's taller than me. Everyone is, anymore. He just nods while pushing me forward so I have to take a step. "All the time when I was younger. Around middle school, highschool. Had nightmares all the damn time." YOU? Had nightmares. That's not possible. You're like a human chainsaw.   
All I want to do is ask about what. But he keeps me walking, so I have to focus on breathing through the discomfort and pain. He looks like he's thinking too hard. And he's....touching me. Like I get it, he has to. But ....I'm not afraid? I guess? For once it doesn't feel like there's an agenda. He's just holding me around my back so I won't fall down or something. Gentle, but rough at the same time. He's not even that tall. I'm...I don't know. But I stand at just below his jaw. With Negan I'm at his shoulder if that. I don't feel so small next to Daryl.   
"Hurt?" Carol asks. She's only here to observe. In case shit goes wrong. She didn't want to walk me around herself, so that's why Daryl's doing it.   
"No." I answer quietly. It does, but I can handle it. To hell if I admit I'm in pain.   
"You sure? You- "   
"She said no. Back off." I frown at the floor in front of me. He sounds like he's being serious. Won't she get mad? She's your friend, you shouldn't be going against her. "You dream about who gave you those scars?" He asks quietly.   
We're almost to the front door. Carol said if I can make it there without breaking a sweat, I can go outside. And I intend, fully, on going outside. I NEED air. Being cooped up for days on end is the bane of my existence. Negan always thought it funny that with how shy I am, I'm outside a lot. Guess, maybe I should tell him the real reason behind that. I've been lying to him so far. Just saying I like it outside. Technically not lie, I guess, but....it feels like one. Before the apocalypse I never really got to go outside. Because no one wanted me to be able to get away or anything. And when I was with Ivan I literally never saw daylight till he died. I was lucky he died, or....I probably wouldn't ever see it again.   
"Yeah." I whisper. "They...thhhey g-get-get-get-get pr-pret-pretty ba-bad." Negan knows I have nightmares, he doesn't understand why. He just knows I do.   
"Yeah mine were about shitty crap. Made it hard to sleep." Really?   
"You've made it to the door. You going outside?" Carol asks. I put my hand on the door with a smile.   
"C-can I?" I ask. I know she already said I could, but maybe she's changed her mind? Honestly if she has it would crush my dreams. I really love outside. And air.   
"Let's go. What's your name again?" He asks before opening the door. Course. He hasn't called me by my name once yet. It's amusing.   
Outside is great. It's truly amazing. The sun it out, but it's blocked by grey clouds. This hopefully signifies that fall is on it's way. I've lost track of the months, so I just go by season now, anymore. The clouds are a light grey, painful to look at even though they're covering the sun. The grass here is really green. It's short and trimmed, and perfectly green. There are farms in Hilltop and at the Sanctuary. No grass like this. Like in the movies. The houses are all clean and they even have pastel coloured paint on them.   
"Evelyn." I answer. My eyes close as I draw in some air. It hurts, obviously, but it's good to know I can still smell real air. It's nice to smell the air again. Finally. "Thh-they're-they're.....ssssso n-normal." I mumble.   
Everything seems perfect on the surface. Perfect grass, no blood anywhere, happy people. Families. It seems so.....wrong. Just horribly wrong. And....it's all I ever wanted, too. Literally, it's perfect for me. I love it here. But....it's missing Negan. And he doesn't fit in here. He never could, or would. He could never fit in a place like this. He belongs to the Sanctuary now. And so do I. So I shouldn't be thinking about this place. I shouldn't want it anymore. Maybe I should want to be his number one. At least I'd be one, right?   
"Your nightmares are anything like mine were, you feel a lotta pain." I again look up at his hardened face. Lots of pain. And fear.   
"Y-you're......you wwwwwere sc-scared?" I ask him. Because holy hell, that's rediculous. That's.....weird. It is. He doesn't seem like the kind of person to get scared of anything. Just mad.   
"I was. Ain't no more. Where you wanna walk?" He asks. Good question. I guess it fits that he isn't afraid anymore. Yet he used to be. Maybe I'll be that person eventually. The one that USED to be scared, but isn't anymore. Maybe I could be that when I grow up a little more. Less afraid of what could happen. But I don't want to be angry, either.   
"I-I dunno. Whhhhhere- where shhhhould wwwwe g-go?" I ask.   
"This way. You get beat in those nightmares?" he asks. How the shit does he know that ?Besides the groaning and whatnot, I guess. But.....was he like me? "I don't tell people this much, not a lot of em get it." We disappear behind some small trees, and I mean maybe seven feet tall, when he starts saying those words. Okay, this is getting cryptic. "My dad took a belt to me an my brother a good few times when we were young. Told us to man up. Shit like that. Learn our place under him or we could starve to death." That's horrible. Really? Daryl has a brother? And a father that beat him? Holy crap.   
"W- what?" I breathe out. Really?   
"We had a hard time talkin about it. Brother didn't know my old man was hittin me till a few years ago. By then the damn bastard was dead. Too late to do nothin about it." Wow, and it was hidden. That's shitty. He hid it, he had to take it, then....THEN his brother found out.   
"I-I'm sorry." The clouds break apart and the sun beats down on us in all it's stupid hot glory. Damn. I hate summers here. I did NOT pick the right place to come to. To accidentally walk to during the apocalypse. It was stupid to come to the hottest fuckin place on the planet.   
"Don't be. Damn." He mutters before removing the jacket he'd had on. He just drops it on the ground by our feet. Then his arm is around me again and we're walking more. Cant' believe he had to go through that. HIM. 

"Can we- " I grab his shirt hard when the bigger man steps out of his house.  
We've been walking around for....too long. So long, that the sun is now right above us. And the fucking breeze vanished. I'm dying of heat and humidity. My chest is killing me. He's been great, actually. We've been....talking? Sort of about everything. Every house we walk by, he says some random fact about the person that lives there. Mostly how deadly they are, but sometimes it's stranger things. Like the woman in the yellow house with the broken window said she wanted it broken because she likes how the light reflects off it.   
"What's wrong? You hurt?" Daryl asks.   
The man, he's just across the street from us, since we're on the sidewalk, but it feels like he's right next to us. He could be standing just by me glaring for all I care. He's right fucking there. And his eyes lock right onto me as soon he's out of the house. Panic surges through me and I quickly look away, remembering what meeting Ivan's eyes would mean for me. The next thing I do is very painfully shove Daryl's arm away before hiding behind him. Pathetic, I know, but there's not much else I can do about it. Anything so the man won't hurt me. So he won't come anywhere near me ever again.   
"Hey kid, what the hell?" Daryl complains. His shirt is fisted in my hands. I'm so scared I can't even FORM words. All I do is shake my head. He could come over here. He could beat me. HE could do whatever he wanted. "Start walkin backwards. Now." He orders. Okay. Yes sir. I keep my hands in his shirt while doing what he says. It's going to be alright. All of it. Completely alright. I wish I were back at the Sanctuary right now. At least there I'm safe. I know I'm safe. "Start walkin left." Left. Okay. Suddenly, almost as soon as we go left, the view of the big man, that's no longer looking at us, is gone. It feels like I can breathe again. It feels.....painful, to let his shirt go.   
"Sorry. I'm so sorry." i walk backwards away from him a few good steps before I manage to fuck up and fall on my ass. And yeah, not only does it hurt my ass, but it really hurts my fucking side. Enough that I squeak like an idiot. A scared idiot that's in stupid fucking pain. I clutch my chest while trying to breathe. It's safe. You're safe. He isn't going to hurt you. It's safe here.   
"Don't be. Abraham scare you?" He asks. Aberham? That's his name? I close my eyes and nod. The grass to my left crunches and whispers. Daryl. He's sitting down now. "Why?" He asks. I look sideways at him fore a moment. That's a little harder to answer.   
"Hhhhhh- " I look down at my feet when my throat starts to ache. The ache throats get when they're closing because you're in pain and about to cry. Ivan keep flashing through the backs of my eyes. What he did and how he did it. The fear is hard to describe. The point is that it's fear. Breathe so you can answer. You need to answer.   
"He won't come near ya. No one here wants to cause o your pappy." I just nod. My eyes are stinging now, too. But I'm trying so hard to not feel it. Not push back the tears and the pain in my throat. Push it away so it can't hurt me. So it won't show. The pain gets worse, as always, before it begins to ebb a little. Enough for me to start answering.   
"Hhhhhhhhhhe-he-he- " I take another slow breath. My eyes close as well. Easier to focus on nothing when there's nothing to see. "Thhhhhere-there wwwwas a m-man." That no longer exists. He's dead. I've seen him die. He's dead. He can't hurt me anymore.   
"Abraham? Or just another guy looked like him?" He asks. You're allowed to breathe. Just breathe. That man is dead. Abraham isn't him, right? he's just a big guy? But what if he isn't and he hurts me? Or Negan? My throat relaxes just enough for me to speak again.   
"Can we sit?" I ask in a whisper, since it's all I can manage to choke out.   
"Yeah. Been walkin round awhile. Wonderin when you were gonna ask. You shouldn't be wearin a long sleeve shirt. Gonna kill yourself from the heat." He complains. Oh, really? Am I? Because I've survived three years wearing these shirts.   
"I'm fine." Though I AM dripping sweat, I will survive. I'm wearing a stupid tank top under this because my bra was killing me. But I don't want to take this off. My scars will show and people won't want to look at me. I'll be disgusting. It'll be easier to not deal with that.   
"You ain't. You're drippin sweat. It's sick." He argues. Sick? I just shrug. "Why not?" Why not? You saw me.   
"Peop-people-people wwwwwill see." I answer quietly. Which is true. They'll see. They'll hate me for it. It's just what happens.   
"So what?" I flinch away from him when he starts pulling at his weird tank top vest thing. Though there are scars on his back. From what I can see. They look like violent slashes. Not necessarily a whip, but something that really cuts deep. Long. not a knife, either. I'm not sure what they're from. "I'll do it if you do." He challenges. Really? "Don't gotta get naked or nothin. Just stop bein dumb." Okay thanks for that. Dick. But won't people look at HIM like he's disgusting? Scars have always been a bad thing. It's what I've been taught. He....doesn't seem to care that people might see him. But they're his friends.   
"Wwwwhat- " I look back down at my lap. "W-what-what i-if thhhhhey.......hate them? Get-get-get-get mmmmmad? I....I have a lot." And they're not....good. I know there are a few cool scars, but mine aren't. I have maybe one cool scar. Okay no, two now. Since I'm shot.   
"Who cares? They don't matter. They don't like em, it's their problem. They won't hurt ya or nothin for havin em. Everyone's got scars, Kid." They do. It's the apocalypse. People always have scars because they have to fight for their lives. But they don't look like me. "We're not goin back till you cut those sleeves off. No one's gonna care. What are you afraid o happenin?" He asks. "They already hate you here. You're one o the bad guys. They won't kill ya. They won't touch ya. They're too afraid to say nothin. Or do you wanna stay pretty?" He mocks a high pitched....mumbly voice when he says pretty. It gets me to laugh.   
"No. J-just......af-afraid. Shhhhould I be? Whhat....what ab-ab-about-bout thhhhe mmmmman? Thhhhe-the-the b-big one?" I ask. Fuck, throat, calm down .ust fucking relax. It's okay. I can't wait for NEgan to come get me. I think it's tomorrow. Let's see. First day was getting shot. Two days asleep, he stayed the night. Then Daryle waited a good three days before taking me outside. I think today is four of six, so that means overmorrow. The day after tomorrow.   
"Abraham ain't gonna do shit. He's just mad his girlfriend died." His girlfriend?   
"When?" I ask. Daryl shrugs as he pulls some grass from the ground. This is when I notice that we're sitting in someone's back yard. It's full of green grass, and that's it. Targets made from wood and card board, but there's nothing in the way of furnishings.   
"Pappy beat her with his damn bat till she was syrup." He growls. OH.  
NEgan came back that night....wired. I mean he was tired, but he was wired, too. I remember him telling me that he wanted me to sty back at the Sanctuary because this was a highly organized mission thing he didn't want me involved in. Thought I'd get scared to go against Rick's group. But he came back.....smiling for the men. But I remember having to take off his jacket for him because his arms were in pain from how much he'd used them. And he was......weird. Wanted to hang out and talk about anything that wasn't what happened. Like it really affected him. I fell asleep with my head on his arm that night. An he woke me up by petting me. It was a weird night.   
"Sorry about that. He....he just wanted.....t-to make a point." Truth. It's all he wanted to do. Granted he likes hurting people that deserve it. As long as it benefits him in some way, or it's for the good of his people. He doesn't mind it one bit. It's....weirdly attractive to see him enjoy his job so much.   
"Don't apologize for him. Just cut the damn sleeves off that damn shirt. You smell." I smile when he hands me a knife. It's big. The blade is as big at my hand. The handle is almost the same length. So it's a good sized knife.   
"No one......"   
"No one's gonna care. I'M gonna care if you smell. Take a damn shower, Little Girl. " Again, he gets me to laugh.   
It's so hot out, he has a real point. I smell. Like...really bad. And...Negan DID say he didn't care. And that's huge for me. He doesn't care, Daryl has his own scars. People here can't hurt me or hate me any more than they already do. And it's hot. HE'S showing off his scars like he doesn't care. Maybe it's only fair I do the same. At least now I'm not alone. I'm not the only one with bad scars. I won't be alone if I do this. I won't.....hate my life. It'll be simple. Right? It's....hot out. And I smell. Maybe it'll just make everyone more angry if I don't do this because I smell so bad.   
"Ok-okay." I answer shakily. Six months I've never not worn a long sleeve shirt in public. Even in my own room I rarely didn't have it on. Though I hate sleeping in anything more than a bra. But....this is huge. And I'm scared.  
It's actually a stupid challenge to get the knife through the sleeve. Takes time, and he starts to laugh at me. But when I finally get it through I freeze. It's okay. They won't care. They won't care about it. They won't care. They won't see you as flawed. Your'e not alone. Daryl's right here. He doesn't care. He has them, too. So you can do this and not be alone. It's okay. I continue to slice the knife through my sleeve. Right until I get all the way around and it's loosely hanging on my arm. My hands are shaking at the thought of removing the sleeves. Though the air hitting my skin feels very foreign and actually very nice.   
"Go on." He urges. Right. For one moment, I meet his eye. He doesn't look...weirded out by the scars on my arm. EH's not even looking at them. He's looking at me. Just me. He seems calm. Holding the normal glare that apparently is just his resting face. Okay.   
"Okay." I move to the other arm and repeat the previous actions. Once that's done, I set the knife on the ground. The next step is getting the sleeves off my arms. The air feels nice. It's a huge relief, honestly. Having my arms out with nothing between them and the air.   
But then there's the huge ball of fear that brings tears to my eyes so fast I can't stop them from rolling down my cheeks. here's about five scars, long and deep and sort of thick, on either arm. One going from my wrist to about midway up my arm. Not for the purpose of killing myself, just to look bad. The other four are slices from one side to the other on the back of my arm. I remember the pain of it. What it felt like when the knife sliced my arms open. They had to rush their private doctor to me so I wouldn't die.  
"No one's gonna give a damn. Feels good, don't it?" He asks. His voice is a little more gentle than before. Just a little. And he doesn't look disgusted by me. Not in the least. Curious maybe, but not disgusted. I quickly wipe at my cheeks before nodding. "I'll throw em-"   
"No." I grab the sleeves from the ground and stuff them in one of my pockets. I will keep them. See it I can find a way to make it so they can slip on and off like gloves, but for my whole arm. No one's even around here right now. WE're just...in an empty back yard.   
"Alright fine. Gonna sit here or keep walkin around?" He asks. I just tap the ground. "Alright. Half hour. Then we're walkin more. Lunch." Food sounds amazing right now. It sounds......like heaven. I'm starving. But I think I'll vomit if I eat....so.....not yet. I need to calm down first. Otherwise, I'll vomit. "You do it to kill yourself?" He asks after a few minutes. He's good at being quiet. He's also good at talking, I guess. He seems to have his shit together. I just shake my head. "Why?" Ugh. Stop asking me why.   
"Cause I wanted to stop getting raped." I growl. It's okay. Don't break. It's okay. It's okay. "Don't want to talk about it."


	13. The only thing to fear is......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that it's going okay guys. How do you like this so far?

"This her?" I flinch again.  
Been doing a lot of that the last hour or two or whatever. We're....we're back at the infirmary house, but we're sitting on the front lawn. People keep walking by and it freaks me out every time. But no one so much as really stares. They look at us, they say hello to Daryl, and they keep going. This guy, the one that just walked up to us, he's a kid. Maybe....fourteen by my guess. Fifteen seems to be a stretch. Fourteen. He's wearing a very wide rimed stetson-y brown hat. And his right eye has a bandage over it. Interesting. His hair is really long, too. Like...in his eyes long. He's wearing an old plaid tee shirt with jeans. That's it. He looks young physically, but there's a very prominent age in the one eye that's showing. Probably thanks to Negan, if we're being honest.   
"Go away, Carl. You shouldn't be here." Daryl orders. The kid won't stop staring at me. He's got a gun on his right hip and a knife about the size of his arm on the other. Daryl doesn't seem to phase him at all.   
"You shouldn't be here. You look fine. Tell Negan-"   
"Carl!" Daryl yells. Tell Negan what? What do you expect me to tell him, kid? I shake my head and look back down at my now empty plate.   
"HE won't care. Not....n-not about wwhhhhhhhat- " I shake my head again. "What yyyyyou have to say." Speaking of, I should be checking in again soon. The radio is inside, so It'll have to wait. But.....I don't know. I'm tired.   
"He's not going to keep us for long. We're GONNA find a way to win." He's so naive. The last group that tried that died. All of them. They were in a library, I remember them trying hard to fight back against us. The one guy, Negan had his men use as an example against Rick's group. This group.   
"Leave, kid. She ain't the person to talk to. Tell Michonne to keep her hand off my toothpaste, too. Mine." I frown at that one. They're actually joking? Hmm....okay. Maybe I should just go inside.   
"Carl!" I jump again.   
This voice is female. Very leadery sounding. Demanding as hell. She's Latino. That's evident just in her skin tone. Her hair is in a pony tail through the hat on her head. She has a machete in her and, a gun on her hip, and a knife in her belt. Greenish cargo pants go down to her mid calf where they're rolled up. Military boots, too. Other than that, she's wearing a light red tank top that shows cleavage I've never had the courage to show. She looks like she can kill with one look. And she's glaring at the kid. Carl, I think.   
"That's Rosita. She ain't gonna hurt ya, but don't make her angry, either." Daryl explains.   
"We've been looking everywhere for you. Your shift on the wall. Go." She orders. His shift? He actually works on a guard position? He's so young, though. Carl doesn't seem to hesitate too long. She watches him closely as he walks off. More like storms off. When he's finally gone she turns back to us. "Who're you? Negan's guard right?" She asks. It sounds like an accusation. My voice freezes in my throat. Don't make her angry. Don't make her angry. Don't make her angry. Her eyes are like fucking lasers. How the fuck do I speak?   
"Need somethin?" Daryl shoots at her. Her eyes leave mine to glare at him. How can anyone look her in the eyes? She's terrifying.   
"Not from either of you. If I were you, I'd cut my wrists, too." That's all she says before she decides to do a vanishing act and disappears back down the sidewalk the way she came. She's scary.   
"Don't worry about her. She's mad Abraham isn't screwin her no more. Still ain't. They're friends, she's just mad. They all are." He explains. Sure. I guess that makes sense. So.....if the scenario is how it sounds to me, she likes Abraham, but he liked Sasha. Now Sasha is dead and he still isn't giving in to Rosita? So she's mad about that? And Carl is just an angry kid. Carol is messed up from her kid dying. Daryl didn't mean to let that one slip, it just sort of came out yesterday. But it makes sense. You lose someone like that, anyone would be emotionally stunted.   
"A-abra-abraham......hhhhhe's nnnnot bad?" I ask him. Daryl snorts.   
"Not rape you bad. No. You ready to go back inside? You need to rest up. Goin on another walk tomorrow." Fucking hell. I don't know if I'll survive another walk around tomorrow. I want to die today. I'm tired. My legs hurt. My chest hurts. I've had enough people contact for the next three months. I'm TIRED. I want to go home. Right now.   
"Yeah." He stands. His plate stacks on mine before he offers a hand for me to grab. This is never a fun part. Getting back up. I have to hold my breath so I don't make noises of pain. Though he makes it quick. Not painless, just quick. After that he helps me walk back up the steps into the infirmary. Carol should be back by morning to change my bandage. Then remove my stitches, I hope. One more day of rest, then home. And I can't say how much I miss home. I miss mornings with James. I miss Negan. I miss hearing him. Just...hearing him. Or knowing when he's in the room.   
"Easy." He orders, helping me lay back. It's so much better to be here again. In bed. So comfortable. So...not outside. It's great. I'm exhausted. But I still grab the radio.   
"Negan." It's all I want to say. All the energy I have right now.   
"About goddamn motherfucking time. I've only been fucking waiting all fucking day. What the fuck, Evelyn." He growls. Great. Now he's mad. What do I even say to that?   
"Was out-outssssside. Hhhhad t-to wwwalk ar-around. I'm sorry." Can't even keep my eyes open right now I'm so tired.   
"Outfuckingside. Next time take the fucking radio with you and check the fuck in like I fucking asked you to." He orders. Okay.   
"Kay. Hhhow was-was your d-day?" I ask. Usual routine. He's getting over the loss of wife one, not that its a huge loss. But other than that nothing seems to be wrong.   
"Don't fucking 'kay' me." He growls. Okay?   
"Yes sir?" I ask. That what you're looking for.   
"Better. My fucking day was fucking fine until you decided to fucking disappear on me. Damn near fucking sent someone over there to make sure you were still fucking breathing. But other from that fucking set back, my day's great. Thank for fucking asking." I'm already crying. And Daryl's outside, so no one's seeing it, so that's good.   
He hasn't gotten this mad at me in a long time. I mean he yelled at me the night before we left, and yeah I cried when I got back to my room, but he's never this mad at me. I didn't mean to forget the stupid radio. I didn't mean to be stupid. I'm stupid. That's what I've always been. I'm sorry I'm stupid and disappointing. I should be better. For him. He needs someone much better than me. I'm worthless. Good for nothing but killing the dead, and I do that wrong sometimes, too. Because I'm STUPID. Of course he's mad.   
"How was your day?" He asks. Do not show him you're crying. Get yourself together and answer him. You're the one in the wrong here. Not him. But my throat is closing again. And it's hard to breathe. Every time I push the button to talk, I just...can't.   
"I-it wwwwwas-was-was-wwwwwas a d-day." That's the normal answer unless there's something to report. But I'm more focused on the fact that my voice sounds pathetic. Shaking and stiff and choked. That's with me TRYING to give a shit about it not sounding like that. I wind up putting the radio down and palming my eyes. Stop crying. It hurts. He's mad and it hurts. And being hurt hurts. It's like I feel like there's supposed to be punishment coming, but it won't. Not like I would expect. It hasn't been like that in three years.   
"I'm thinkin about coming he fuck over tomorrow and picking you up. Make the doc here take your fucking stitches out himself." Great. I'd love to be home. "How the fuck does that sound?" he asks. Like a great plan.   
"Great." I answer. Stop fucking CRYING. Idiot. Fuck. Daryl comes in the door. Him and Rosita both. Just what we need. Someone that hates me seeing me cry.   
"Good. Get some fucking rest. That's an order." I know. Rosita doesn't look so angry right now. She actually look almost opposite of how she did earlier. Maybe an hour ago now? Cause it took forever to actually get through the conversation with Negan.   
"Y-yes-yes-yes-y-yes ssssir." She frowns. Almost looks like she flinches, but it's not a flinch. It's that action you do when you're surprised about something. So your head jerks back. That's what she does. Sleep, right? Rest up so he can come get me tomorrow. Sleep until he gets here.   
"Is she his.....?" She doesn't think I can hear her ask the question. Doesn't matter right now. I'm focusing on not crying.   
"No. Used to get raped, I guess. Thinkin she got attached to the wrong person. Abraham scared the shit outta her." Rosita frowns, and again draws back.   
"Abraham? He didn't touch her did he? They didn't know each other before....? " I close my eyes and try to relax as much as I can. Sleep. I need to sleep. I'm already so tired.....

 

"Ah!" I squeak.   
He's standing over my bed. The man. The the the the the fucking guy. The big one. I was asleep and then suddenly he was there and I could feel him staring at me and he's here. Staring at me. Is he going to hurt me? Did I do something wrong? Is this punishment or something? I don't know why he's here. And he's put a hand over my mouth so I can's scream. Meaning he wants quiet. so be fucking quiet or punishment will be worse. He has his other hand making a 'shh' noise with his lips. I nod my head quickly, which is when he lets me go.   
"It had come to my attention that I scare the shit stain out of you." His accent is thick. Very thick. And he is larger now then he was last time we were close. He looks very tough. But he's missing something in his eyes. Ivan had something in his eyes that said violence. Not that Abraham doesn't seem to be violent. He could hurt me. "True?" He asks, standing back up to his full height.  
Daryl is asleep in the chair on the other side of my bed. I never noticed that he'd be here before I woke up from nightmares. Did he fall asleep here? Couldn't have been that comfortable for him. Carol isn't here, yet, though. I nod to answer his question. He's wearing a blue denim jacket with....I think that's fur on the inside. Under that is a red shirt, and cargo pants. He's weaponless. Which is strange, because I haven't seen one person without a weapon this whole week. Is he that strong? That sure of himself and unafraid of what could happen?   
"I apologize for the bitch of a first impression I may have given you. Rosita brought it to my attention you have been through serious shit. I would only ever hurt and or kill you should the need arise. We are by no means on the same side of the shitty thing we call life. But I try not to hurt a woman, OR a kid if it is at all avoidable." He's got a weird way of talking.   
Half of that didn't make sense. But he could hurt me at any time, so I just nod. Yeah sure. Say what you need to say. How do I even respond to that? Does he want me to? He's just watching me now. Like.....it's weird. Why are you staring at me? What did I do wrong? Do I need to do something? He wants me to....DO something, right? That's usually what they want when they're staring. Something. I don't understand what's going on right now. After a few seconds, he nods at me and steps back.   
"Good. I can honestly say I have never seen that man give two short and curlies about no one but his old woman." Is that a question? He turns back around to look at me and all I can do is flinch. I look between him and Daryl a few times. He just looks....confused. Daryl is still very asleep. He's curled up in a ball on the chair. It's cute. But...the man is confused and I don't know why. "He shot you through and through, am I correct?" He asks. through and through. I nod again. "Does your mouth not work? Do you not know how to speak?" He asks. Speak?   
"Uh-uh-uh-I-uh- " Breathe, Evelyn. It's going to be okay. Negan is supposed to be coming back today. Negan. Think of Negan. "I-I-I- "   
"What are you doin here?" Daryl growls. He's always more growly in the morning. It's something weird about him that Negan does as well. It's something that I've noticed in every guy when they woke up. Their voices are always lower and more gravelly.   
"I- "   
"Get outta here. Don't need to be here. She's leavin tomorrow." He continues. It's very strange. Daryl's defending me against Abraham. He doesn't even know me. He doesn't have to do that for me. They can hate me. Negan should be coming for me today anyways. At least I hope he does. He said he would.   
"Rosita told me what's up with her bein up shit creak. I meant to make it known that I would not shove her head underneath that shit for the fun of it." What? I don't understand what that means. They're both being very serious with each other, though. So there's that. What the hell did he just say, though?   
"She understands. Now leave. If ya wanna do somethin, get us breakfast." Daryl orders. Just after, my stomach growls so loud they both look at me. I guess I'm hungry.   
"You mean lunch. It's past noon o'clock." Abraham corrects. Past noon? Wow, that's....late. I don't sleep that late unless I have nothing to do that day. It's rare. I always have something. I try to plan for everyday if at all possible.   
"Get some damn food. YOU need to get up." He starts to get out of his chair. It looks painful. He was almost small in that thing. I wonder how tall he is? He's only a little taller than me, but I don't know how tall I am. Maybe taller than I thought? Or maybe he's just short? Abraham begins to walk out. His footsteps are heavy and very authoritative. Nothing timid about him. He's very sure of himself. Very broad shouldered and very aware of his surroundings. He'd easily break bones if he needed or wanted. Maybe that's why he doesn't carry weapons. Maybe he's just that sure of himself. That and he's terrifying. It could be anything, really.   
"You were tired last night. Passed out before I could say nothin. Too much walkin?" He asks. Too much? I watch the door close and let out a breath. It's okay. He's gone now. He's gone.


	14. About Abraham.....

"Uh......hhhhhhe....he w-wwwwon't hhhhurt m-me right?" I ask. Daryl snorts.   
"He won't touch ya. Ain't gonna let that happen. Why's he scare you?" He asks. Why? Why DOESN'T he scare you? He's huge and scary and fucking a wall of muscle.   
"He j-ju-just-just-just do-does." I answer quietly. Check in with NEgan. I grab the radio that I always sleep with under my blanket. It's stupid, but it's a comfort thing. If I need to talk to him, I can just do it right when I need to. "N-negan?" I ask.  
Is he still mad from last night? Most likely. I mean of everything that's happened in the last week? Him getting pissed off at someone because some weird reason. Then I got shot and caused a bunch more stress. That was stupid of me. Then he had to stay here for days because of it. And then wife one went and broke a rule by fucking cheating on him. I mean who DOES that? And then with me being stupid and forgetting to check in? He's got good reason to be in a bad mood.   
"Almost thought you were going to fucking disobey me again. Tried you last night. Daryl said you passed right the fuck out. How do you fucking feel?" He asks. How do I feel?   
"Tired. I-I'm ssssorr-rry about l-last night. Di-didn't mmmmean to fall as-asleep." I offer. I didn't. It just sort of happened. And I thought he was done with me. He was angry.   
"Don't be fucking sorry. You need to fucking rest, you fucking rest. They wearing you the fuck out? I want to know what's going on." He sounds...more relaxed this morning, at least. Or this afternoon. Sounds great.   
"He t-took mmmme o-out to walk ar-around." I answer. Please don't be angry. PLease. I didn't mean to forget. I promise.   
"Getting back up on your fucking feet. Good. This si the shit I Want to hear. No one's giving you shit, are they?" HE asks. Shit? I shake my head, tapping the radio against my temple.   
"No. Thh-they-they.....they'rrrrre n-nice. I-I'm sssor-ry about yes-yester-yester-yesterday." I honestly didn't mean to forget. OR fall asleep.   
"I told to stop fucking being sorry. I was being fucking pissy because some guys cause some fucking trouble. I'm still fucking sortting through the shit. Which means I can't fucking pick you up today. I'll be there as soon as I fucking can tomorrow." Great. And I was really looking forward to today. Getting home. BEing home. I want to be home now.   
"Okay. Are y-you ok-okay?" I know it's weird to ask, and I never do it when other people are around, but I like knowing. Everyone just assumes he's crazy so he doesn't have to worry about being okay. Or he's got everything figured out, so there's no need to ask. But no one is always okay. Not even NEgan. Took me a few months, but I asked one day and he just unloaded on me. It was a refreshing side of him to see, honestly.   
"Tired of dealing with petty fucking shit. I can fucking telly ou this, it'll be fucking nice to see you around here again." Really? That's...really sweet. I smile.   
"You, too." I really DO miss him. Daryl widens his eyes at me, small action that's barely detectable, basically telling me to hurry up. NOt that we NEED to hurry. I'm already so tired. I don't htink I really need to walk around today. Right?   
"You better fucking miss me. Have you eaten today?" He asks. I smirk.   
"J-just woke-woke up." I answer. There's a beat before his answer.   
"You never fucking......You've never been fucking shot, either. Fucking eat something before you starve. I'll check in with you in a few fucking hours."   
"Y-yes sssssir." I answer, then I set the radio down next to me. Carol's finally here. She just walked in, nearly slamming the door behind her. She's terrifying. I don't understand how she can be so...cute? I guess is the word. I don't understand how she can look so innocent and be so badass. And scary.   
"About time you woke up. Go easier on her today. You need to remove your shirt." S  
he kicks Daryl out of the chair he'd repossessed since ABraham left. Which is...not abnormal. She always kicks him out of his chair. I slowly sit up and do as she says, removing my shirt. It's painful to do, but no one's going to help me. I don't want the help. I set my shirt aside, just next to me, and lay back down so she can get at my side. The bandage goes from just under my left breast, to just around my side. She leans over me and begins to peel it off. It tickles. I can't stress how much it tickles. Tickles and hurts at the same time. But mostly tickles now. I always have to purse my lips and close my eyes.   
"You're healing good. I can take the stitches out today. Just stay laying down. It'll hurt." SHe warns. I'm honestly not worried about it right now. It means I don't have to worry about the pulling now. I heal fast because I have to. Fuck. Fuck. She hasn't asked me about the scars yet, and that's good. She's seen them without raising question so it's much easier to let her see me. Daryl, on the other hand, sort of looks them over all the time. Since yesterday, though, it doesn't feel so weird. Not with him. Not right now.   
"THis is all I could scrounge up." The door reopens not more than three or four minutes later. Great. MORE people.   
I slowly open my eyes and freeze, groaning at the pain the ensing brings. It's Abraham again. Of course it is. He's got like...thre plates of food balanced on an arm. It's impressive. The most I can balance on my arm is my weapons. It's weird. I guess it's not the worst thing, though. The food looks really good. It's like.....vegitables and salad. I haven't had salad in a long time. I mean...I missed salad. I feel weird about that. I guess I'm used to everyone around me eating meat. And i hate that I'm one that doesn't eat meat if it's avoidable. I don't trust it. You never know if it's going to be rotten or something. Or if it's infected meat. I just don't like it. If it's mized with other things, then yeah. I really DO like it like that. Just straight meat makes me feel weird.   
"Looks like damn rabbit food. Where's the real food?" Daryl complains. Braham wind up putting the plates down next to my legs. His eyes drift over my torso and a frown appears across his forehead. I sink a little. I need to dissapear now. I need to get out of here and cover myself. Just make it so he doesn't see them.   
"Ain't any real food for awhile. Give the hunters a few clicks to get the food. If they can." He mutters. "Till then it's rabbit food for the little red's of the world." He continues. "Mighty fine shot ya got there. Hurt?" His attention is on me now. His eyebrows are thick and orange, and sort of pulled up. He looks....not confused. IT's questioning. Not nagry in the least when he's...situated like that. It's...almost a nice expression.   
"Hey. He's talkin to you." Daryl taps my other leg. All I do is flinch, but I don't take my eyes off Abraham. M mouth opens and shuts for a good minute. Say something. You need to speak. I open my mouth again and nod.   
"L-li-lilit-lit-lit-lit-lit-" I get restless with myself. It's hard to focus on anything at all. I mean anything. My stupid stutter is killing me now. I should be able to speak. I wish I could. It's all i want to do right now. It's what I NEED to do. I need to fucking speak. Abraham's thick eyebrows pull together. His eyes drift over to Daryl and Carol.   
"All done. You need to limit your movement for the next two weeks. For the first week, watch the wound. Keep it bandaged. It should heal by next week. After that it's all dependant on your rib." Carol explains, putting on another bandagHonestly. I'm e. Of course. That sounds great. Honestly I'm happy for this change. It'll be good in order to....be me again, I guess.   
"Ok-okay." I nod, pulling the blanket so it's up to my shoulders. I'm still wearing the tank top, but....it's not covering enough. I feel very exposed with the way Abraham is looking at me right now.   
"She eat?" He asks Daryl.   
"Hey kid. Eat. Thinkin about takin her to see Rick. Maybe do another lap around the town." Ugh. Last night's was so HARD though. I mena literally, most of it felt uphill. He's trying to kill me. Abraham pushes my plate up my leg until it's in my lap. Without a word. If he were anyone else, I'd laugh. But I can't because it's him. I guess the world's just a fucked up place. For me especially. The living are worse than the dead.   
"She....don't speak a lot?" Abraham asks. Ugh why does it matter? Why are you both eating off my legs? I can't even sit up in order to eat witout disrupting your food. Ugh.   
"Shy. Kid, tell him your name." Daryl orders. WHY? Abraham looks at me again. It's not okay to have ees on me. It doesn't help me at all. I look down so I don't make him angry. It's okay, right? Negan said no one hurts me. So did Daryl. But what if they DO? What if they take me?   
"Ev-ev-ev-ev-ev-" Tears spring to my eyes. I feel so pathetic right now. Why can't i just DO this? I should be able to. Right? It's just talking.   
"It's alright. You can do it." Daryl encourages. "And sit up so you can eat, girl." HE removes his plate from my left leg. Abraham quickly does the same with his. They both wind up putting theirs in their laps. Good, good. Better. I sit up, as quickly as my injury will let me, and grab my plate. Food. I'm starving.   
"Ev? Eve?" Abraham asks. I glance up at him just as I'm about to get the first forkful of salad into my mouth. I wind up nodding. "Eve?" I nod again. "Abraham Ford. Pleasure to make your acquaintance." He sticks his hand out towards me, causing my body to jump. My salad is still in tact on the plate, just not the same as it was before. His eyes widen at me before looking at Daryl.   
"He won't hurt ya. Hand shake. Way o meetin new people. Harmless." Daryl explains to me. Right. Yeah.   
I take a breath and nod. M hand, which is shaking, reaches over slowly. Achingly slowly. His hand envelopes mine. And it's sweaty. You wouldn't think someone like him would have sweaty hands. They're rough, and warm. Calloused, probably because he used to be military or something. And wielding a weapon for three years will callous anyone's hands. Just how it works, I guess. He shakes my hand up and down in a time frame that feels much longer than it actually is. I keep expecting him to squeeze my hand and break it, or something like that.   
"N-ni-ni-ni-nicce tooooooo mmmmmmeet-meet yo-you." I stutter out very quietly. He relases my hand with a nod. That's....it? I look back down at my plate of food and divert my attention, as much as I can, to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short this week guys! Come back next week!


	15. You Broke My Body Guard

"You alive, doll?" I perk up at Negan's voice.  
I've been waiting all day. Almost literally. Abraham left at lunch to go do his shift at the wall. He was replaced by Rosita, who I am taking a liking to. She's very...nice. When she wants to be. Which is....pretty cool. She doesn't have a problem voicing her opinions. Not one bit. It's actually really cool, yet scary, to see someone that can just....say what they want without being afraid of repercussion. I've never been unafraid of that before. She doesn't seem to hate me, either. She doesn't look at me like most other women always do. She seems.....calm. And almost accepting towards me. With is nice. It really is.  
"Yeah. T-t-ti-tired." I really fucking am. We just finished dinner, so it's settling in. Meaning I'm getting really tired. The physicality of what I've been doing it catching up to me. "Hhhhhhow- "  
"They're fucking feeding you?" He asks. Feeding me? I smile at the grass under my bare feet.  
"Yes." Daryl and Rosita, as soon as Negan started speaking, left. Not all together just gone, but they're a few feet away. Neither of them like NEgan. For good reason.  
"Good. You better be fucking eating. And fucking sleep. Don't let them fucking push you the fuck around. I should have fucking stressed that more." He mutters. "Fuck. I gotta get the fucker- " He cuts out after that. I just smile. He probably won't be contacting me again until tomorrow or way later tonight.  
"Hhhhave-have a g-good nnn-night." I can't wait to be back home. I just....I miss my bed. And my charged computer that I'm too nervous to use here. And I miss my music. I'm dying without it.  
"What? I ain't fuckin goin anywhere, doll. I'm right fuckin here. Read the rest o that fuckin book, by the way. She's got serious fuckin issues. You have the same shit?" He asks. Daryl looks over at me, causing Rosita to do the same. Which makes this a little more awkward, but....I look down again.  
"Uh......'' I swallow hard. "C-can....wwwwwwe-we-we t-talk tom-tomor-orrow? I-I'm r-reall-really ssorry." That's something that's really hard to put into real words. I've never been able to until I read that book. So...yeah. It's hard for me to talk about.  
"Yeah that's fucking fine, doll. It's getting fucking late. You should get the fuck to sleep. Give me to Daryl. Please." Please. Woah. That's rare to hear from him. Like....really rare. I think I've only heard it from him a couple times. Not that....he DOESN'T say it. He does. Just....not often. I hand him off to Daryl, who gives me a weird look. He doesn't know why I'm giving Negan to him. And I'm not sure I WANT to know? I don't know. I just know I'm tired and....tired.  
"Hey." It's not a nice hey. It's the kind of hey that demands attention. I look over to Rosita curiously. She nods me over to her. Uh-oh. My stomach turns when I walk over. "Abraham wouldn't touch you. He's not in a good place, but he wouldn't hurt you unless he needed to. I'd kick his ass if he did, anyways. your names Eve?" She asks. I just nod. Everyone keeps saying that about Abraham. I think I'm beginning to get it through my head. He's no going to murder me. Got it. Understood. I mean....I hope he won't hurt me. I still don't really know.  
"Okay." I mumble. "I.....I-I.....I'm.....I'm real-ly sorry ab-about......your fffffriend. Th-the one Negan kil-lled." I offer, staring at the ground again.  
Everyone here, I've found, is very close to one another. I really love that everyone here is so close. Literally everyone knows each other. Everyone knows everyone's names, ages, where they live....it's great. And this place is....I think it's big? Negan's group is much bigger, obviously. But the fact that everyone here knows each other, gets along for the most part. It's really nice to see such a loving and caring place. I wish the Saviors were more like this place. It's safe here. At home, people fight all the time. It's hard to get real friends. People are in groups, too. Clicks. If it were more like this place, it would BE and FEEL safe.  
"You should be." She shoots at me. "You ALL should be. Sasha never did anything wrong. Your people are killing MY people. Forcing us to WORK for your people, and proposing that our WOMEN could GO to your damn leader and what?" She draws back, her head, in a circular swivel kind of way, before blinking very aggressively. It feels like just her voice and her....bodily movements could hurt me without touching me in any way. She's terrifying to be around. "Screw him?" She asks. I cringe and step back. Yeah, they do that. but...it's more than that. It's a way for them to work without having to be in real danger. He's giving them a good choice. instead of putting them in unwanted danger.  
"Leave her alone." Daryl orders. I step back again when he shoves his way between us. Negan DID hurt one of them. But they killed so many of our people. It's not our fault. It's not NEgan's fault. He's a good leader. He's even a good man. I think. In my opinion. From what I've seen of him. He's pretty awesome. And smart. But I get that it's hard for them. It's not fair that they had to lose someone. Someone GOOD. That they loved like they do.  
"Why? She's one of them. CArl made a good point earlier. She shouldn't be here. She's just another one of his dirty- "  
"Get outta here!" Daryl yells. Dirty whores? Is that what she was about to say? No.  
"No." I step around him while the anger bubbles up. Almost over. I haven't felt so angry in years. "They aren't whores. You don't know what a whore even IS! You don't know what it's like to have to even BE in that position! To be so afraid of going out into the world with the dead?! They aren't whores! They are doing a job that keeps them alive! It is NOT a forced decision. He will NEVER hurt them. He would NEVER do that to ANYONE unless they REALLY deserve it! They aren't whores. They're surviving and they're okay! You have NO IDEA what it's like to not have a choice!" Fuck I can't breathe. I need to breathe. I have to breathe.  
"Jesus fucking Christ. What the motherfucking fuck did you do to my fucking body guard?" I freeze entirely.  
The gravelly voice, the all too familiar gravelly voice, catches my attention. It's so deep.and so demanding. It's really hard to not freeze when I hear it. It noteven coming over the radio. It's right here behind me, very angry. Very not happy. Holy shit fuck. What is he doing here? He said he wasn't going to be here until tomorrow? Even blinking proves that he's real. Not my imagination. Does this mean he lied to me? He looks.....angry. Obviously. But good. His beard is a little out of hand now, but he's got Lucille on his shoulder, too.  
"Well? Somebody better fuckin speak up." Rick's just next to him. Even HE looks confused. On his face, confusion is a very very evident thing. His head tilts, and his eyes grow very narrow. His mouth even opens.  
"Negan." I don't know why I say it. It just comes out. Which makes him look at me. He's here.  
The moment finally catches up to me. Confusion gets replaced with relief, and I rush over. His body tenses when I hug him, a lot, but after a few seconds his arms find their way to my back. He smells.....like NEgan. Sweaty. Very sweaty. That's unavoidable in this stupid heat. At least it's going away soon. Then there's the undertone of his cologne, I don't know how he found it, and the soap he uses in the shower. Sweet, somehow. He's much taller than me, so my face winds up getting pressed against his upper chest.  
"Rosita, what happened?" Rick asks. Negan's thumb, only one since he's holding Lucille in the other, runs over my right cheek. I'm crying? I pull back and wipe my face off angrily.  
"Sorry." I mumble. I hadn't realized I was crying. I'm so stupid!  
"Don't be fuckin sorry, doll." Negan orders.  
"It was just a comment. I didn't mean for her- "  
"Are you fuckin okay?" Negan asks. Okay? I sniff and nod. "Never fucking seen you that fucking mad before. What the fuck was that about? You fucking defending me?" I just nod"YOU better not have fucking TOUCHED her your people fucking owe me. And I'm going to fucking collect before I fucking leave." Negan growls at them. I still can't believe he's here. He said he couldn't make it until tomorrow.  
"She didn't mean anything by it. It was just a- "  
"I don't give a fuckity rat's goddamn motherfuckin ass. I told you what you had to do. You didn't fucking do it. Simple as that. Come on, Doll. You look tired as fuck all." Negan puts his free arm around my shoulders.  
It's not an all too familiar action, but it's not unheard of. He does it to people to scare them, usually. But with me....he already scares me, so I don't see the point. I'm just happy he's here is all. I guess. The weight of it hurts a little, just because of the weight it puts on my side, but I won't say this to him. I want him here. He takes me back to the infirmary, which we weren't that far away from, at all. We were on our way there before the shit got here. At least he's here to make everything better. He helps.  
"Why the fuck are you defending me to those pricks?" He asks as I'm climbing into the bed again. IT's a process, a painful one. A SORE one, at the least. For anyone not accustomed to pain, it'd be a lot more painful. For me it's like I'm just really sore. You get used to it, I guess.  
"What?" I ask him. No one else followed us here. It almost feels normal now. Like I'm back at the Sanctuary.  
"You fucking heard me." He answers. He's in the chair now. On the right side of the bed with Lucille in his lap. He's angry. It's evident that he's angry. I bring the blanket up to my shoulders.  
"Uh......" Good question. "W-was I? D-def-defend-defending y-you?"I ask. I thought I was defending his wives. To be honest. He rolls his eyes at me. "Sh-she....I look down at my lap with a shrug. "I-I wassssss d-def-defending y-your wivessss." That seems to catch him off guard.  
"Why?" He asks again.  
"C-cause......thhhey aren't......they aren't whores." I answer quietly. The whole point was that I would be defending them.  
"Evelyn......" He shakes his head. I only see it out of the corner of my eye, but it means something that he's doing that.  
"No." I shake my head. "Th-they aren't. N-no." There aren't even words. Not really. "They....." I take a few deep breaths. "They are NOT whores. They are surviving. They are humans. They are married to you. They are not whores. They're people. Not whores. Ever. No." I growl. "You saw. You SAW." I whisper. "You don't.....d-don-don't do this." I nod down to myself. My scars. "Nnnnot-not to them. They WANT it. When......." I can't even talk anymore. It's stupid I can't form real words. "And they- " I shake my head again. "Th-they a-aren't......prop-p-p-prop-property. Shhhhe doesn't kn-know whhhhhhat she-she was ssssssay-saying." I clutch my side. Too tense. You need to relax. If you don't relax, it'll hurt more. Carol told me that the first night.  
"Alfuckingright then. How the fuck does your side feel?" He asks. My side.  
"Fine." I answer. "Hhhhow.....how's th-the Yuma thing?" I ask. At least now it doesn't feel so stupid tense. Negan sighs before dragging a hand down his face.  
"That shit's handled. Don't have to fucking deal with her anymore. Her fucking side guy's face got what it fucking deserved." Exactly like what happened to Dwight. I remember how loud Dwight screamed when that happened. Hadn't stayed to watch it. But no one could get away from the sound. "Spot's still fucking open." Our eyes meet at that. He isn't joking. He doesn't seem to be in the usual jokative mood. So I won't joke when I answer him.  
"No. I-I thhhhhhhought-thought you c-couldn't-couldn't come t-today?" I ask. Lucille is laying across his lap now. It's normal when he's not back home to have her close by.  
"Figured I'd fucking surprise you tomorrow morning. Get here after you fucking fell asleep." He explains. Oh. Well I guess that makes sense. I guess.....  
"Okay." What now? What's supposed to happen? Are we leaving, or staying until tomorrow? Am I in trouble? "We.....a-are we sssstaying the nnnnni-night?" I ask He simply nods.  
"Too late for me to fucking comfortably take you home right fucking now." Guess that's good? I don't know. I don't know. "You fucking miss me?" He asks. Miss you? I smile and nod. There was never any NOT missing you, Negan. "Good. You look too fucking tired. They overfuckingworking you here? You're supposed to be fucking resting." He mutters. I smirk.  
"I-I am. Mmmmmet-met......people. A-and....wwwwwalk-walked around. That-that'sssss it. Sl-sleep a lot." I explain. I HAVE been resting a lot, considering what I normally do. Walking around, working out, doing things. Not laying around all day.  
"You don't like fucking meeting people. Who the fuck did you meet?" He asks. "Sleep with anyone?" I glare at him. Are you joking right now? You stupid dude. I shake my head.  
"Yup. All the guys. Sleep-sleeping with all th-the guys hhhhere. Sp-sp-special-llly th-the big-big one." He rolls his eyes at me again. "Wh-what? It wwwwas a d-dumb qu-qu-ques-question." I get colder when he frowns at me.  
"Dumb fucking question. Gues that's fucking true. You ready to come the fuck home tomorrow?" He asks. Oh yeah. I nod with a smile on m face. SO ready. "Good. You need to fucking sleep." That's an order.  
"A-are yyyyou......." He meets my eye again with a......curiosity. I guess that's the word for it.  
"What? Sleeping with you again? Are you fucking comfortable with that?" Comfortable? Last time actually wasn't that bad at all. It felt.....almost nice. I've never been able to relax in a bed before. And you weren't mad at me.  
"A-are YOU?" I won't look away from my lap now. Maybe he doesn't like me anymore. He DID say he read the book. And that book is really really close to what I am, or was or whatever. Maybe now he see's me as a thing, or used up. Maybe he doesn't see me the same anymore.  
"I fucking asked you a question." I flinch at his tone. He's a very dangerous person when he takes that tone. He's never spoken to me with that tone before. He talks to Dwight with it, or people he hates. Not me. See? This is what you get when you're bad. You're being bad. You deserve to feel like crap, you deserve to get beaten. This is why Ivan and David beat you. Answer him! Answer him now!  
"Yes." It comes out just above a whisper. That's it. And honestly that all I want to sound like. The tinier I am, the smaller I am, the less of an inconvenience I am. It's because he saw you. And you got shot. You're being annoying, and you're causing trouble between him and this place. The people here. You're making things worse.  
"Are you fucking sure? You don't sound fucking sure." I just nod, though all I want to do is cry at my failure of being his guard. Being his friend. At least...I THOUGHT I was his friend. Wh's he so mad? Is it because of me? What can I do to fix this? I need to fix this. "Evelyn." He growls. I flinch again. He's mad. Fix this.  
"Ssssssss-so-" Breathe, Evelyn. You have to breathe or you'll never work through this. It's fine. If you're bad in this situation, you have to remove yourself from it. Not sure where I can go right now, but I have to GO. Before this gets violent. Before anything bad happens. To you or him. That's the best decision. That's the only option when things go south. This is your game plan.  
"Evelyn. Fuckin breathe."  
I don't WANT to leave Negan. I love being at the Sanctuary. /listen to him. Breathe. Work oxygen through your lungs. IT's hard, but I force myself to do it. I don't want to leave him. Not the life I've made in the last six months. I like it there more than anywhere else I've ever been. But I'm good on my own. If I left, it would be fine. For all of them. He wouldn't have to worry about freaking me out every time he raised a hand. He wouldn't have to worry about being weird. He wouldn't have to be annoyed with me. He could focus on his wives. His job. His men. Not me. Not protecting me, or trying to bed me. He'd be better without me here. Everyone would be better off if I just left.  
"The hell did you do to her!" I yelp, then I yelp again at the pain that the first flinch gives me. Stay safe. I pull the blanket over my head. IT's the literal only thing I can think of for protection. It won't help. I know it won't help. It's not safety. It's just a thin blanket. But maybe if I'm smaller and they don't see me, they won't get hurt. They won't be angry if I'm not here.  
"Get the fuck out of here before you fucking meet Lucille. Out. Fuckin now. Sh'es one o my men. Out." Negan orders. Just curl up, ignore the pain the best you can, and stop existing. Stop existing. I flinch when there's a slam. Sounded like the front door. "Evelyn- what the fuck?" Yes I'm hiding under the blanket. Go away. "Did you fucking fall asleep on me, Doll?" His voice is a little less aggressive now.  
Asleep! That's a fuckin amazing idea, Evelyn. Act like you fell asleep. If that means he won't be angry anymore, be asleep. I close my eyes quickly and bite my cheek so I don't move. No moving in any way that might mean you're awake. The blanket is slowly taken away from my face in the next minute. DO NOT MOVE. BE ASLEEP. It feels like an eternity of him staring at me. My eyes feel like they're going to blink, or my mouth might twitch. You're breathing too quickly. Breathe slower. If I breath slower, I won't be breathing. Don't move. Relax more. Negan sighs before putting the blanket back on my shoulders. His hand lingers for a moment. Maybe he'll hit me or something. He isn't hitting me, why not? I SHOULD get hit, right? I pissed him off.  
"Nod your fuckin head if you're okay with me fucking sleeping in that fucking bed." Does he know I'm awake? Do I nod? Well I shouldn't NOT. I don't lie to him. Fuck. Fine.  
I slowly nod my head, opening my eyes so I'm staring at the wall by the door. It's white. Sort of dusty, now, but pretty white. After I nod, I scoot over till I'm on the edge of the bed. It hurts a lot. Not the worst pain, but not the best. A few seconds later the bed starts to move. Rattle around and wiggle like.....duh, someone's getting into it. This someone being Negan. His body sort of presses to mine, more his side presses to my back. But it's....good. Better than before. Weird I've been sleeping with my back pressed against a wall, now Negan's there.  
"I'm fucking sorry if I fucking scared you. Did I fucking scare you?" He asks. You should lay on your back. Your side hurts, you should lay on your back. But Negan's probably comfortable. Shouldn't disturb him. Answer him. You need to answer him.  
"Yes." I answer quietly. No moving. I don't want to right now. Not in the mood. Too scared. I flinch at his hand on my arm.  
"I told you I won't fucking hurt you. You need more than fucking that?" He asks. more than your word? Quite possibly. It's....just fear. I just nod. "I'm fucking sorry. You know I don't say that a fucking lot, but I'm fucking saying it now. You know how I fucking get when one of my fucking girls steps the fuck out. Put trust in em, they go turning it the fuck around on me. How bad is your fucking side?" He asks.  
Oh it's Yuma. Yeah, that's understandable. She hurt him. Hurt his pride, hurt his trust. She shouldn't have hurt him. It's a hard thing to do. If he trusts you, and you break that, I haven't seen anyone get it back fully. Dwight stepped on his trust once when he took those two girls out. Negan still doesn't trust him and that was a good few weeks ago. So he's probably never going to put her in as his wife again. She's destroyed any trust he had. She'll never get it back. He probably assigned her to work far away from him.  
"Neg-Negan?" I ask, turning onto my back. He's glaring at the wall in front of us. When I say his name, though, he grunts. "C-can-can-can- " I sigh. "Can wwwwe.......sw-swit-switch? P=pl-laces?" I ask. Can't lay on my side facing him if he's on my left side.  
"Why- Oh. Yeah alright." He moves and before long he's out of the bed. It's such a simple movement, but I honestly didn't know it'd hurt so much. Just simple movements like that. I move to the left side of the bed and settle on my side. He climbs in, and it's settled. Good. I have to work some courage up, but it doesn't take too long. Not really. My hand finds it's way to his mid chest. It's okay. People do this to feel better. People do this to comfort others. It's a comfort thing.  
"Sorry." I mumble quietly. Maybe this is too forward. Should I take my hand back? I do just that, or go to. He winds up grabbing my wrist. Guess this IS okay. Which is good. It's good. This is good.  
"Get some fucking sleep, Doll." He orders. As long as You do, Negan. Only if you do. His other arm, the one not holding my hand to his chest, is wrapped around my back. This is a very comfortable position, as long as you don't account for the pain in my side. He smells good, too. Sleep, right. Sleep.


	16. Let's play a game...

"Haha!" Rosita yells, slamming her hand of cards down on the edge of the bed. We're all playing cards. And by all I mean her, me, and Abraham. Daryl's just watching.  
Abraham came by this morning for breakfast, which Negan ditched us to get for himself. We'd had a nice conversation this morning about nightmares. Honestly it WAS a good conversation. Very enjoyable. And he seems to make everything better when he's in the room. Abraham brought breakfast, with Rosita following not far behind. Maybe a few minutes. She got bored. Daryl and I talked for awhile, too. That was around lunch. And then he left so Abraham took a shift watching me. And honestly it was pretty cool.   
He's funny. You wouldn't think someone as big and scary as him would be....funny. But he has a way of talking that just.....it's hard not to laugh. And after he made the comment about my giggle being adorable, he's made it his mission. Every time he makes one of the weird comments, he'll look at me and if I giggle, he's usually crack a smile. A genuine smile. I panicked the first time I laughed, but he said it was fine. People usually make fun, it was nice to have someone not be afraid of him for once. He's......easy to relax around now. And that's the fastest I've EVER relaxed around anyone.   
"Shit balls." Abraham complains. I hold back, pressing my five cards to my mouth to hide the smile. Usually it's just balls, or some form of nuts. Sacks, too. He's very dick centric. Rosita laughs as she collects the cards.   
The game we're playing is....simple. Relatively. Just hard to describe. Rosita calls it speed Rummy. Each player gets seven cards. Then, if the dealer is nice, you sort them. You place the remaining deck face down on the table top, or in this case, the bed. Turn one card from the remaining deck over. The goal is to get rid of your cards, all of them. Drawing as many as you need in order to do so. How you go about this, is you match the number or the suit of the card that has been previously set down. If you have all spades, and the card that the dealer turns over is a space, basically you set your hand down and win. IF you're fast enough. There are no turns. You just fight to win. And go as fast as you can. It gets insane. Frightening, too, since Abraham is big and rough. He hurts when he slams his hand down on top of yours because you got there first.   
"Your turn, Evelyne." Rosita hands me the cards to shuffle. This part is something I love. I'm so shy, yet apparently it's weird that I can shuffle really well. Like really well. And that's apparently weird. To be shy and good at shuffling cards. "I'm gonna kick your asses. I told you I'd kick your asses." She gloats. I love her. When she's not being scary, I love her. It's nice to know that she......she's free. Even under the reign of Negan, she's free. I quickly deal the cards, seven to each of us, and waist no time flipping the first card. I don't give anyone any time to sort. Gives me a chance to really try. I think I won once. We've been playing for what feels like hours. I'm awful at the game, but I get really close sometimes.   
"Eat it." Abraham slams his hole hand down in maybe one second. I let out a huff, examining his cards just to be sure. Yup. He won. The jerk. Ugh. I sigh and shove the cards towards him. I just have to be faster. Just need to react faster.   
Abraham shuffles a couple times before dealing out our cards. I pick mine up one at a time and organize them quickly. He tends to wait until everyone at least has their cards in their hands before he flips the first card over. I have three diamonds and two hearts. Two spades. Spades connect to diamonds through sixes. The first card down is a five. I slam the hearts down as fast as I can while they both draw their own. Rosita pulls a good three before Abraham can get his hand on one. I simply wait for them to stop pulling from the deck. Don't want to get in the way, the're quite violent. And very competitive. Though It's hard not to be in this game. I finally manage to reach in and grab a card, queen, that connects all of mine together. HELLS yeah.   
"Ha!" Abraham yells when he slams his hand down just underneath Rosita. I examine his cards carefully.   
"LIES!" I call out before slamming mine down on his. He has a diamond where heart should be. He didn't win. Therefore I finally got one in. Fuckin about time. About the time I realize that I've won, I realize how they're laughing. Because no one laughs when I yell. Not that it happens particularly often, or anything. But normally when it happens people stare at me. Or people yell back. Loudly, Or they punish me for it. But they're laughing. They're laughing like it doesn't even matter.   
"Damn skippy." Abraham mutters. But he smiles at me with soft blue eyes. He doesn't seem to have an inch of violence in him. NOt at this moment, at least. It's nice to not see violence in someone for once. Especially for someone like him. Rosita's dealing the cards when the door opens.   
"Negan." I greet with a smile.   
"Cheat!" Rosita yells. I look away quickly back at the pile. Six of hearts. I grab the three hearts in my hand and slam them down just before Abraham does the same. It hurts when he hits m hand, enough that I flinch back.   
"Sorry." Rosita slams the rest of her cards down with a cry of victory.   
"What the fuck is this?" Negan asks. He sits on the right side of the bed. Just next to me. By now both Abraham and Rosita are back to being hostile and how they are when they aren't with me. And it's admittedly quite frightening to see. The hostility in them. "Doll?" HE inquires at me. I look down at the cards in my hand before answering.   
"C-card-cards........ssssssspee-speed-speed r-rummy?" I ask Rosita. She just looks between us and nods. She's got a strong front. She's always looking....like no one can hurt her. Is she even afraid of anything?   
"bitch nuts. I gotta get to the wall. You comin Rosita?" Abraham asks while he forces himself from his chair. They don't like being in the same room as Negan. I don't blame them, not a lot of people do, honestly. It takes time and friendship, for the most part.   
"Yeah." She and Abraham get up to go. Abraham, when he looks at me before leaving, seems betrayed or hurt. Something I did? I thought we were getting along. "Wish they'd leave. She mutters below her breath. Oh. okay. I didn't realize. I thought maybe they didn't' hate me. But this was just something to help pass the time. Okay. Yeah. I should have known that.   
"A-are wwwwwe l-leaving now?" I ask Negan. This just makes everything worse. I don't want to be ere anymore. I just don't. I don't want to be here. Negan lets out a heavy sigh.   
"Yes. Everything fucking packed?" He asks. Not like I had a lot of time to UNPACK. But my cards are still on the bed, so not really. All I have to do is get those.   
"Yes." I answer while quickly packing the cards. It sort of hurts to pack them, since I'm nearly folded in half, but I have to get them, right? They prove to be quite useful when I'm out on runs and bored.   
"You fucking forgot something." He raises his eyebrows at me when I give him a confused look. What did I forget? Oh. I feel my mouth twitch.   
"Yes sir." This is going to be his new thing, isn't it? I have to refer to him as sir of something? Or just answer him that way. I'm not sure. "Wwwwhat-what d-did RRRRRick hhhhhhave t-to say?" I ask him quietly. I'd say Rick the Prick, but I'm not sure I COULD say it.   
"Usual fucking bullshit. Says you were very fucking quiet. Didn't give anyone any fucking trouble. You should have." He nudges my arm just as I'm getting the cards into their box. "I have to make a fucking run to the fucking Hilltop tomorrow. Get more crops. Maybe steal a fuckin farmer." Now he's in business mode. Though it's nice of him when he helps me get out of the bed. I don't NEED the help, but I also don't really mind it, either. He grabs my hips and basically takes on most of my weight. He even hands me my bag, which I tuck the cards in to.   
"Why-why-why..." I sigh. "Why nnnnot-not today?" It's not that far from us. Maybe a half hour detour. Negan gives me a 'seriously?' look, before nodding towards the door. Oh yeah, we're leaving. Hell, I'm so happy to be leaving right now. Going home. Being at my place in my room. It's better like that.   
"I want you back at the fuckin sanctuary, that's fuckin why." He answers. He holds the door for me, too. Wow, he's being so nice. It's cool. I just smile at him before dropping my gaze to the grass.   
"Wh-who'll b-be your g-guard?" I ask. It's sort of a joke, since he really doesn't need one. That became very obvious to me about a week into my job. I've saved him a couple times, sure, but he honestly probably didn't really need me. Just likes having me there or whatever.   
"You know I don't fuckin need a fuckin guard- "   
We're interrupted when he's interrupted by yipping. Lots and lots of yipping. It's weird, and almost scary. But when we turn to look, there's like...six puppies running straight for us. They're tiny and brown with big floppy ears. All of them. They're coming at us. They're so tiny. My first thought is fear, since the only dogs I've ever seen were mean. But they flock around me and Negan's feet, just jumping all over our legs. They're so cute and tiny. I almost get knocked over. But I sit instead, letting them jump all over me. Yes it hurts, but they're too cute for me to care.   
"Puppies!" I giggle and start to pet them. They're all on me now, since....Negan isn't petting them. Fuck my side hurts. It hurts a lot. And one of them nips at my right cheek. THAT is a little scary, but not bad. They're so SOFT and TINY and CUTE. I have never seen a puppy. I've never even pet a dog before. They're so cute. I love them.   
"Get back here now! I'm sorry, sir. I'm sorry. They just got away from me." Some woman I don't recognize is running toward us with a very stern look on her face. She's older ish. Maybe twenty years older than Negan?   
I giggle again when one of the puppies licks my face. Four of them have gone back to her, but two are still with me. One's just sitting in my lap while the other is licking my face. I love them both. Seymore. The one licking my face. I'll call him Seymore. And Fredrick. Maybe. Until I can get something better. The other four are Lolly, giggles, button, and George. Because I don't know. They fit. They're so cute. I want them all. All of them. Right now. I just want to take them all home with me. The one licking my face eventually ditches, so I start to pet the one in my lap. Fred. I'll get something better for you, I promise. Like.....Luna. Or.....brownie. I like brownie.   
"Oh I love you already. I mumble to it. It stands when I pet it and tentatively snifs my stomach and chest. It's got super blue eyes. The fur on it is thin, and weird. But very soft. I love it. I don't want to let it go.   
"You want her?" The lady asks. WHAT? I look at her and grin. But then I sink a little and look at Negan. He won't stop looking at the puppy. Something of contempt on his face. But when he looks at ME, he softens a bit.   
"YOu want it, Doll?" He asks. Really? He's asking? I look back down at her. She's so cute. She's sooooocute. I don't want to let her go ever again.   
"C-c-can-can I-I?" I ask him. He just looks at the lady.   
"You already owe us half your shit. We'll take the dog and see you fuckers next week. Doll." He offers me his hand, which I gratefully take, before pulling me up. I keep Brownie in my other hand. She's not SUPER tiny, like fit in my hand tiny, but she's fine with hanging over my arm. "Come on. We gotta get the fuck back. That fucker pisses in my truck you owe me a new fuckin truck." I just laugh and bring Brownie's face to my own.   
Looking into her very very light blue eyes, she actually looks back at me curiously. She's got a white spot on her forehead. And the tip of her left ear is also white. One of her back legs, her right, is also white like a sock. She's only wearing one sock. And there's a ring about three quarters of the way down her tail, going all the way around it, that's also white. The rest of her is pure dark brown. Her body is extremely warm. I could bury my face in her stomach she's so warm. Honestly it's great that she's....so tiny. She's perfect. I can't stop petting her head and back. But mostly her head.   
"Hey, you fuckin hear me?" Negan asks. I look up from Brownie a little guiltily. He was talking. He's been talking for a solid twenty minutes. But I've been too caught up in her.   
"Sorry." i mumble. Brownie lays down in my lap with a small huff. Very docile.   
"You don't let that fucker shit inside. Potty train the fuck out of it. Get a fuckin leash, walk it every fuckin day. Don't forget to fuckin feed it. If it bites you or me I'll shoot it my fuckin self." I clutch her to my chest at that.  
He'd kill her? He'd really kill her? She wouldn't do that. She'll be good, I can feel it. Negan, looking for an answer, looks at me with widened eyes. Not angry, just wide. It hurts a little that he'd do that. I don't know why I feel like crying over that. I cry more than I should. And that honestly makes me want to cry. How stupid is that? I know she's an animal, but how could someone just kill a baby animal like that? She's sweet. She won't be bad. She won't. I'll make sure of it. She's calm, she's nice, she's warm.   
"Shhhhhhhe'll-she'llllllll b-be good. Rrright B?" I ask her. He smirks at me and rolls his eyes. "Thank you, Neg-negan." I would hug him, but he's driving. "R-really. Thank you." It means a lot you'd do this. "I-I'll....m-make sure shhhhhe d-do-doesn't b-bite. C-can I bring-bring hhhhher to th-the d-dining hall?" I ask. This time he keeps his eyes on the road in front of us.   
"As long as it fuckin minds it's own fuckin business I don't care. Don't let it cause fucking trouble." I nod when he looks to me for confirmation. "D'you miss me a lot?" He asks after a couple minutes of quiet. I keep petting Brownie's head. She isn't asleep, but she's being calm. I hope she stays that way.   
"Y-yes. D-did-did you?" Stupid question. He has friends. And wives. I doubt he really needs me. She has sad eyes.   
"You fucking know it, Doll. Does your side hurt too fucking much?" He asks. My side? No. I shake my head to answer that one, continuously petting Brownie's head. "Good. You need to take a fucking shower when we get back. You fuckin stink." I do? Oh yeah. It's been over a week, hasn't it. My face heats up and I press myself into the door so I can get away from him, and more into the wind of the open window. Didn't know I stank. I wish I could do better. Be better for him. He's right. I stink. And I have a puppy. Who's adorable.   
"D-do you thhhhink shhhhhe-she cou-could taaaaake one too?" I ask, holding her up just a little. He doesn't spare the time to look at her. Does he dislike dogs? I haven't heard him say anything about it. "Please?" I follow up quieter. She should be clean. After the shower, I'll take her for food. But she really really needs a leash, too. And a walk, just in case she needs to go. So leash, walk, food, shower? Fuck that's so much. Okay okay. So I'll....trow my bag in my room then get to work.   
"Go the fuck ahead." He mutters. Woop woop. I smile and hug her.   
"I-I'd hhhhug you if I could." I admit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, what do you guys think? I'll be posting a picture of Brownie on Tumblr with the the tag: Brownie.   
>  Hope to see you guys next week! Merry fuckin Christmas!


	17. And They Called it.....Puppy Love

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Negan asks. I'm at my door. Just down the hall from his, as usual when we get back from a run. I just want to drop right now. Honestly. I'm so tired.   
"P-put mmy sssstuff back?" I ask. Brownie is hanging over my arm. Kind of like bird. Her head is on my hand, too. It's cute. I want to put her down on the bed so I can get food and a leash. Negan shakes his head.   
"You really don't fuckin listen when I talk, do you, Doll?" He asks. I frown. What is he talking about? Is he kicking me out? Did I do something wrong? IS it Brownie? He's making me move somewhere else because of the puppy? "You're staying in my fucking room until you can fucking move on your fucking own." What? With him? His WIVES don't even do that. They aren't allowed in his bedroom. He screws them in his office, in their rooms, but never in his bedroom. "Hurry the fuck up." He orders. "Put the fuckin dog in your room and get the fuck in here." Okay. I flinch and start into my room.   
Everything is just how I left it. So I put Brownie on the bed. On the pillow. She stirs, but she doesn't wake up. Which is good. She's so cute. I hope she doesn't mind being alone. Since NEgan probably won't let me bring her into his room. And what does staying in his room entail? Bed-bound for awhile? It's just staying down as much as possible. I can walk around. Obviously I can walk around. I can function. Why does he want me in there? Sex? Is he just going straight for it? I'm not ready for that. Not even close. SHIT. I have to pay him back for the puppy. Right? That's......I have to. It's how it works here.   
"Negan?" He's already in his room putting his stuff back. He looks tired. I won't come in more than just inside the doorway.   
He has a nice room. The bed is huge. Like bigger than any I've seen. Could probably fit like five people. And he has red blankets. Numerous red blankets. They're huge. They look warm and comfortable. His pillows are thin, though. Without sheets on them. They don't seem to fit. He has thee book cases, too. They're old, and a little damaged. The weight of the books is making a couple of the shelves bend down towards the middle. It looks pretty....dangerous. For the books, at least. And the floor is carpeted. Like a weird green soft carpet. Much different than my room. He has a table on the other side of the room from the bed. It's big enough for two people maybe.   
"What is it, Doll?" He asks. He's using the tone he only uses when he doesn't need to put on a show. It's his tired tone. He doesn't always have charisma. I look down at my feet.   
"Wwwwwhy-why-why-why- " Come on, Evelyn. You can do this. "Why a-am I....."   
"Staying my room?" He finishes. I just nod. "Because I fucking want you here. I can't keep a fucking eye on you in your own fucking room. You stay in here, you can't lock me the fuck out." He knows I lock my door? Does he try to get into my room or something? That's....weird? "You afraid I'm going to fucking try something?" He asks. Now he's standing right in front of me. Fuck thanks. You're making me feel really really small. I grab the strap on my bag as tight as I can before letting his question settle in my brain. Try something. Sexually. I shake my head. But then I sigh and nod.   
"Will you?" Fuck, get your stupid voice back, weirdo.   
"Probably. You say no, I'll fucking stop. For now you fucking rest. That's it. Put the fucking bag down wherever you fucking want. Then take a goddamn shower. Use mine." His? He has his own personal one, I remember now. It's connected to this room. On the left wall. I feel like if I move....I don't know. I just feel really stiff right now. Like...a little frozen, I guess. Nothing feels......right. I guess. I sort of feel in trouble. "Something the fuckin matter, sweetheart? Scared of little old fuckin me?" He asks. I flinch again, which probably answers his question. Fuck. Calm down. You're home. You can actually be a little more calm. You can calm down. You're safe. He said he wouldn't hurt you.   
"Shower." I mumble. Can't take my eyes off the floor now. Stupid me. I'm being stupid. I step around him and go to put my bag in a corner. I need clothing. Preferably something that'll cover my arms. Get the next week's worth of long sleeves, and hopefully check on Brownie. Too much to do today. I just want to collapse. It's so much. Granted, I wanted a fuckin puppy. This is my stupidity. My problem. "I got-gotta-got-gotta g-get......get a leash. And fffffood. Shhhower.....l-later?" I ask him. My bag, which is an old computer bag, gets set in the corner by the door to the bathroom.   
"Where the fuck do you think you're going to get a fucking leash?" He asks. I sigh. James. He'd know, right? He gets things. He knows how and where to get anything. He got me a necklace. He can find a leash.   
"I j-just...nnneed one. I-if I'mmmmmmm g-gonn-gonna wwwwalk-walk her. Sssssssssso shhhhe- " I feel like I can't breathe. You just gotta compartmentalize. You can take responsibility. You do it every time you go out on a run. Focus. Fucking focus. Or he'll get mad. Fuck that's not helping! "Leash......food.....w-walk, shhhhower. Sleep." I realize my eyes are closed then. Oh great, you look like a fucking freak. The tension is getting fucking worse. I open my eyes and force myself to look at him. He just looks confused as shit. Like....really confused. Fuck DARYL could decipher what I was trying to say. He's not Daryl. "I-I hhhhhave thhhhi-things. B-befffffffore I c-can show-wwwww-wer. L-like.....clothing?" I gesture down to my still cut up shirt. My arms are hidden by my coat, thankfully. "Sssssor-rry." I mumble. But I DO need clean clothing. He sighs heavily.   
"Hurry the fuck up, then. I want to fucking take a hot fucking shower." He mutters, heading towards his bed. Wait what? I frown, but brush it off. Doesn't matter, yet. Just get what you need to get done right now, done right now. One thing at a time or you'll get overwhelmed. Last time you let that happen, you nearly got your head cut off. Literally.   
"Thank you Negan." I rush, well about as much as one with a cracked rib and a whole their chest can rush, towards the door.   
"Anyfuckin time, Doll." 

 

"J-james?" I ask quietly.   
He's in the kitchen making dinner since it's so late. Me and Negan got back just before sunset. Lucky us. Everyone is preparing dinner right now. It's weirdly dead in here. James, the head cook, and maybe five others? That's not a lot considering how many people are normally here. It's usually always buzzing. But they're playing music and no one's talking to each other. It's hot like always. Oh, they're cooking meat. Yay. Sounds like real fun, meat. Ugh. James is in the back doing the cutting. He likes cutting. Everything. It' his thing.   
"What?" He looks up from the current piece of red meat. Looks too serious, James. The only time he looks serious is when he's working or ranting. So a lot. But he see's me and his eyes go wide. "Evs!" The knife gets discarded on the small table he was using to cut, along with the meat being temporarily forgotten.   
"HUH! MMM!" I squeak. He's wrapped his arms around me and hugged me. We're about the same size, and he hugs around the stomach area. Cracked ribs and hugging really don't go hand in hand. At fucking all. "J-j- " Can't breathe. I am being stabbed. Holy fuck me. PAIN. PAIN. PAIN. PAIN.   
"I thought you were dead, Evelyn. Where the hell WERE you? Where the fuck have you been!" Why is he fucking yelling? Why do you have to yell? And squeeze. Fuck it hurts. It hurts. It hurts! I can finally breathe when he lets me go. Which is when I grab the table. FUCK YOU YOU DICKHEAD MOTHERFUCKER! "What the fuck did I do? Too strong?" He ass. He sounds like he's about to laugh. Ha ha, this is so funny. Hahahahahahahhaha fuck you. Fuck this hurt. Fuckity fucking fucker mother fucking shit-face. "Seriously, I thought you were dead. What the FUCK is wrong with you? Being gone so long without telling me. You always fucking tell me." Oh gosh. I'm sorry. I didn't exactly plan on getting shot.   
"I-I was.....hhhhurt." I shake my head. Pain is too much. It's gonna take a couple minutes to recover from that stupid fucking hug.   
"Hurt? Shit girl, you don't look hurt. What the fuck happened?" He asks. Good question. I hold back a groan.   
"Got shhhhot." I answer quietly. Thank the universe I changed my stupid shirt before I came out. It's too hot to wear my coat right now. But the long sleeve isn't so bad. Not once you get used to the heat.   
"Shot? You got SHOT? Who the fuck shot you? are you okay?" He asks. I just nod.   
"C-c-c-c-crrrr-crack-ck-cked rrrrrrib. Sssssor-ry I've b-been gone. D-didn't ex-ex-exact-tly p-pop-pop-pop-pop up on my cal-lllllender." I joke. He smirks for a moment, then frowns at me.   
"You're okay?" He asks. Okay is relative. My head nods.   
"How's....how-how's your week b-been?" Nice question. Really smooth. You're great at talking to people, Evelyn.   
"Shit. I've been worrying myself sick over you. For good reason, apparently. I can't believe you were shot. Negan have you locked up or something?" I shake my head. "Good. Well I'm happy you're better. Nothing else really happened around here. Negan's wife Yuma cheated. You should see what he did to poo Mick. The guy's face is like Dwight's now." He makes a weird face before shivering. I don't like imagining that. Negan pressing the iron to Mick's face. The flesh melting off. Bleh. "Jamie and Francis are going at it again. I haven't been able to make a good run. Negan tightened security. The asshole. Speaking of guards, do you want to have dinner with me tonight?" That was a definite change in direction.   
Have dinner? Like.....a date? I feel sick at the thought. Not because James, no. I just.....a date? It's not my thing. I don't even know how to do that. And I don't want to date James. He's my friend. I'd go as far as to consider him being my best friend. But if we date, he'll want sex. And he doesn't know about my past. He's never seen my scars. He doesn't know me. I don't want to see the look on his face when I refuse him, or when he see's me. I don't know how to talk right, I don't know what he's like, either. Nice or.....like the other men. I know that Negan is fun, and he can be serious. I've made my decision, and it wasn't made lightly. James isn't the guy I want to date.   
"Evs." I flinch when he snaps his fingers in front of my face. He has dimples when he smiles. Like.....deep deep dimples on his cheeks. The one on the right side of his face is slightly higher and deeper than the other. "Dinner?" he asks. I panic.   
"Uh......I-I-I ac-actu-actuallllly-ly hhhhhave.....I-I got a- I got-I got- uh a-uhh p-pup-pup-pup-ppy a-and I hhhhh-h-have t-to fffffffffeed her ffffffirst. A-and find-find her a llllllleashhhhhhhhh." He looks very confused. Which is why, around feed her, I panic even worse and continue talking. "A-and I-I-I-uh-I-uh- '' My rambling is cut off by him waving a hand through the air.   
"I am not understanding a fucking word, Evs. Talk slower?" He asks. Slower. Right. As soon as I can breathe again. Funny, my side is acting like a rubber band conditioning tool right now. Which is when someone has the rubber band on their wrist and snaps it every time they have a 'bad thought'. Only I 'snap myself' when I get panicked or stressed. And by snap, I mean I actually feel serious pain in my side. Courtesy of my stupid fuckin rib.   
"Co-come wwwwith m-me?" I ask him. It'd be easier to show him, anyways. He nods, and I begin to walk out of the kitchen.  
Funny how when I first got here I hid behind NEgan. Not that I trusted him back then, but I trusted him more than I trusted these people. Now I can almost tune out when I walk around. Tuning out meaning I don't feel as scared as before, but I still flinch a lot. And I hate having James behind me. It makes me nervous. I know he's watching me. It makes me hyper-aware of what I'm doing. My breathing is louder, my heart is louder, my walk feels uneven and loud. Since I'm focusing on my body so much, I over-focus. Everything feels new. Like I've never walked before. Do I go from my heel to my toe, or the side of my foot inwards, or my toe to my heel? None of them feel natural. And I can't regulate my breathing right, either. It's like....I'm not getting enough air no matter how I breathe.   
"Pup-puppy." I open my door and walk to the bed. Brownie is sitting up now with her tongue hanging out. She almost looks like she's smiling. but that vanishes as soon as she see's James. Once he's in the room, she jumps down and trots over to my feet. Then she sits. Right on my feet. It's cute. I love her.   
"Oh ho ho, I see how it is. You got yourself a dog. Nice. What's his name?" James bends down and gently holds his hand out in front of Brownie's face.   
"Her na-name is Brownie." I answer. he looks up at me as he pats her head.   
"Brownie, huh? Huh girl? That your name? You're such a good girl." He scratches just behind her ear and her eyes close. She tilts her chin up appreciatively, it looks like she's smiling. "So you can't come because you have a puppy. Why don't you bring her? I don't mind dogs." Oh. GREAT. I just......you're not going to give up. Are you?   
"Nnnnnnnnnnneeed-need-need to wwwwalk h-her. Neeeeed a leash." She seems to finally get it.   
"OH. That why you came to me today?" I nod. "Alright, well you need a collar, too. I think I might have a leash somewhere. I can look around for you, get back to you?" He asks before standing up. Thank you!  
"Please? That-that-that wwwwould be s-so great. Thank-ank- you." The grin that spreads across his face suits him well.   
"You Could bring her to dinner if you don't want to leave her here. I love dogs." He offers again. Never did I think he'd be so persistent about getting a date with me. If that's what he's asking. Which.....is scary. And I already said I want Negan. So.....I sigh.   
"I-I hhhhhhhhave t-to eat wwwwith N-negan. I'm sssssor-sor-ry Jam-james. His smile fades a little. Fuck I'm a jerk. I shouldn't...he shouldn't like me. I don't talk a lot, and I flinch. And I'm flawed. HE just shouldn't like me. It's a slippery stupid slope.   
"That's fine. Another time. I'll get back to you with that leash and collar. I bet I could get dog food, too." He jokes before closing the door. Dog food?   
"Hear that? Dog food." Sounds disgusting. She should eat real food. I kneel down and lift her into my arms. She's so tiny. Not at all heavy. And she smells.   
Se needs a bath. I'll take her to the community shower since Negan doesn't like her. That way it doesn't disturb him. Wait how late is it? Fuck it's too late. The women's time to shower is the morning. The men get the evening. The time in between is mute. Doesn't matter who showers when as long as it gets done. Or whatever. Weird rules if you ask me, but I won't complain. So her bath will wait until morning. Or afternoon tomorrow at least. I HAVE to get a walk in soon, too. It would suck if she went in here. That would stink, and the cleanup would be ridiculous. So food, then walk, then I'll go back to Negan and shower.   
"It's okay, Brownie." I pat her head as she gets a little wobbly on my arm. She seems to like sleeping like this when I carry her. Draped over my arm with her head on the back of my hand. It's adorable. I just gotta get her some food.   
"Oh, it's so cute." Marsha, the girl that hit me last week, or the week before, says.  
I'm now in the dining hall and people are staring. Yay me. I look around, adjusting Brownie in my arms, finding Negan at a table in the corner. He likes sitting there because he has a full view of everyone in the room. It establishes dominance. He doesn't see me, yet, not that I'd expect him to. So I just make my way towards the kitchen line. There's a three table 'buffet' type thing along the right wall of the room. It's always filled with food for everyone. But I don't take my food from there, usually. I get mine directly from the chef, safe as Negan. But tonight I grab a plate for Brownie before making my way back to the kitchen.   
"Hey Hun. I got your plate right here." Timothy, the head chef, says with a big smile on his face.  
He's always happy, like cooking makes him happy. I think he said something about being a chef before the apocalypse. Guess he's lucky he's here now. He's taller than me by two inches at most, and very lanky. Most people nowadays are. But his face is round. It seems like every chef, the ones I've read about and seen in movies, are round in the face. It's weird. Like it's a rule or something. He's got a white beard going around his face that looks way too easily groomed. His cheeks are always a light shade of red as well. But he always smiles like he's happy.   
"Thanks." I take the plate and stack it with Brownie's. She's looking at the food now with big eyes. Her nose keeps sniffing at it, too. Yeah I know, me too.   
No one says anything as I make my way to Negan. I'd like to leave and eat in my own room, but he wants me here tonight. I won't disobey him. It still makes my skin drawl knowing that most everyone is looking at me. Well, at Brownie, but same thing. A few people 'aw' and a few people laugh. There are few kids here, I never see or interact with them thankfully, but they're staring, too. This is too awkward. It's hard to focus on carrying everything, making sure Brownie doesn't get the food before we sit, walking, and knowing who's watching me all at the same time. I almost drop the plates, but just barely catches them. But this results in Brownie slipping from between my arm and my chest.   
"No!" I gasp, but she just slips down maybe a foot of space between me and the floor. Once she's down there she just looks up at me and starts to stick her tongue out while she breaths. At least she's okay. I smile at her and nudge her bottom so she'll go towards the table. "Negan." I greet while I sit. Brownie hops up next to me, but I have to pat the bench first so she knows. It's cute watching her jump up. It takes a few tries, but once she's up she's up.   
"Evelyn. Get what you needed to fucking get done?" He asks. I put Brownie's plate down by her before going to mine.   
"Mhm." I answer. He makes that weird face again. "Yes sir?" He's never wanted me to say that before. Ugh, I should never have said it in the first place. "Wwwwwhy......why d-do you on-only now wwwwwant m-me to say that?" I ask. Thank you, Tim, for giving me these amazing mashed potatoes. I love potatoes. I'd eat them raw if I could. And I have, before. The're so good. And he always puts like...some weird seasoning in them that makes them so much better. He's a very nice man.   
"Consider it fucking entertaining." He answers simply. Okay. Brownie is very much enjoying her piece of....rib? I think those are ribs. Smells good, that's for sure. I've never even had them before. "That fucking thing better not fucking shit in my fucking Sanctuary." He points at Brownie. She's still struggling with the ribs. It's very amusing.   
"I-I'm g-going to walk hhhhhher. T-twice d-day." That's what......uh......someone told me that. I just don't know who. Maybe I read it once? Honestly it's too much fun watching her try to eat. She keeps fighting with the meat. It's getting everywhere. I'll definitely have to wash her now. My plate is just filled with mashed potatoes and gravy, along with a few select vegies. I think. A sliced tomato, a full sliced tomato, some baby carrots, and cheese. It's a lot to eat, if I'm being honest.   
"You fucking vegetarian?" He asks a few minutes into eating. He has a full plate as well. Kind of like me and Brownie's plate combined, but it looks more...globby. The mashed potatoes are on the ribs, and the veggies are pushed to the side of his plate. I shake my head, though, to answer his question. "Then why isn't there any fucking meat on your fucking plate?" He's not, this is honestly just his version of casual conversation. I shrug it off.   
"D-don't-don't trussssssst th-the mmmmmeat. Don't rrrrreal-really like it o-on it's own. SSssssssssstir f-fry is pr-pretty g-good, though." I wish I could ask him a question that would be somewhat good. I'm no good at conversations. He usually starts them and ends them. I try to hold on, but sometimes I feel like I'm drowning. Like I NEED to say something, or ask something. Like now. I can't take my eyes from him because I feel like I NEED to say something. When I open my mouth to try to speak, he looks at me and Brownie barks. Which causes us to BOTH look down. "What?" I mumble-ask her. Oh. Wow. She picked the bones clean. Now she's....looking at me? What? Do you think you get more? I giggle at her when she bites the sleeve on my left arm and pulls. "You're cute. But I'm not done, yet." I mumble to her quietly. Yes, I can feel Negan staring at me. Strangely enough, this doesn't make me feel so weird that I have to stutter. Which is quite nice, actually.   
"Hey!" Brownie lets me go, and I jump nearly a foot in the air when Negan yells. He's glaring at her, not me. Fuck that was loud. Now the whole room is silent. Why'd he have to yell? She was just playing around. He looks at me, causing me to shrink in my seat and force my eyes away from his down at the table. He's mad. I'm inadequate. He hates everything about me. I'm a failure of a human being. You cannot have an attack right now. You absolutely can't. NO. "Evelyn." He's trying to catch my attention. I think. He's dipping his head down so he can get me took at him, but I can't. He's officially put me in a bad frame of mind. I don't feel safe. AM I safe? Did I do something wrong? "Fucking look at me, Doll." He orders. I close my eyes, trying hard to regulate my breathing. My heartbeat keeps getting faster and faster. Brownie crawls into my lap before I feel her paws on my upper chest. It's distracting enough to get me to look down at her. Is she okay?   
"B." I run a hand down her back a few times. Her fur is so soft, it's honestly ridiculous. Not fair she's this soft. Not a bit. "It's okay." I whisper to her.   
She sniffs at my neck for awhile after that. It's cute. I almost don't want to look away from her. She's very brown. I have to admit the one white spot on her forehead is vexing. After another few minutes I pick up where I left off with eating. Brownie stays just where is in my lap. Standing in my lap against my chest. Loving the warmth coming from her. Are all animals this warm? Is it just dogs? Maybe it's all. I dunno. But she's definitely warm. I definitely don't mind her being warm. If nothing else, it's relaxing.   
"You done?" Negan asks awhile later. The dining hall is beginning to empty out. I'm struggling to keep my eyes open. Don't think I've touched my food in a good few minutes. Brownie is adorably looking around without leaving my lap.   
"Mmmm." I answer with a nod. Then I catch myself. "Yes sir." Negan grabs my plate, and Brownie's since I put it on the table when she finished, and stands.   
"Take her back to your fuckin room. Then get to mine." He orders before walking away with all our plates. Okay. That's....a very sketchy order. He said if I want him to stop, to say stop. It's safe. I quickly grab Brownie and make my way out of the room.   
"It's okay, B. I'll see what he wants and come back for you. I'm gonna walk you so you can go. I promise." I kiss the top of her very soft head. She responds by licking my chin. Which is disgusting, but cute. It makes me giggle. "Stop being cute, weirdo." I mumble.   
She licks my chin again. Ugh, the sheer adorable-ness it killing me. And it sucks that I have to lock her in this room. I hate that. I wish I could stay here all night. Pet her, laugh with her. Make sure she fell asleep without nightmares. Do dogs have nightmares? Do they dream at all? Obviously they're nice, but....they can be mean. Will she grow up to be mean? Because right now she's curling up on my pillow, and it's....so cute. She's so cute. I hope she isn't mean when she grows. I could never hurt her. And I don't want NEgan to hurt her, either.   
"I love you. But I gotta go. Negan, he wants to be a good person. He wants to help us. I'm sorry he's so scary. But he's a good person. He is. He's nice. I'm sorry he yelled at you. Yeah I am. I am." I kiss her head again. "I'll be back. I promise, B. I'll be back. Just don't worry." I stand up, but I'm worried about her now.  
I'm worried about leaving her. I'm worried about everything. I shouldn't be, but I am. Did I do something wrong? Did Negan not want me to keep her? Does he hate me? Will SHE hate me? Am I bad? Do I deserve to get hurt for being like this? I'm sorry I'm such a failure, I don't mean to be. I just.....I'm sorry. I'll do my best to make sure you're okay, Brownie. I promise. And I'm going to be good for Negan, but I won't let myself get lost doing that. It's a promise I made when I left Ivan. After he died. I promised I'd never allow myself to lose who I am again. I'm not mindless. I'm not property. If he thinks I'm bad for this, then he should say something. But my soul purpose on this planet isn't to please him. It's just not.   
*Knock knock* Always knock before entering his office. That's just how it should be.   
"Come in." He calls out. Stop your hands from shaking. It's safe here. I close my eyes for a moment before entering his room. "Doll. About fucking time you got here. You take that fucking shower yet?" He asks. I feel guilty when I shake my head. "Mind fucking sharing this time?" Sharing? The shower? With you? I feel very cold a the thought. I have all my scars, though. He really wants to see me? Naked? I look to the bathroom before looking at him again. he's waiting pretty patiently. He's been waiting for six months. And he DID say he isn't that patient.   
"Uhm......sure." I answer quietly. Though I'm honestly very tired. And shy. And.....he's him.   
"About fucking time. Been waiting long the fuck enough." He mutters as he removes himself from the bed. Oh great. I just agreed to it. To taking a shower with him. Naked. And I know how childish he'll think it if I want to keep my underwear on. He knows better than to think I shower in my underwear. It's too late to go back now. Much too late. "You coming, Doll?" He asks. HE's already out of his shirt. Fuck. Just go. Get it over with. e's not them. He won't hurt you. He won't expect anything of you. He won't make you do anything. I am safe.   
"Breathe." I order myself.  
We're sharing a bed, we might as well share a shower. And if I don't want to do anything, I don't have to. So I won't. I won't. My shirt.....I keep pulling at the hem of it. Even when I get to the bathroom and he's got the shower started. I'm afraid to take it off. I'm afraid of what he'll see. What he'll think when he sees it. And what....what'll happen. Either way. If he likes it or if he hates it. I can't take my shirt off. So O postpone that by removing my pants. My black cargo pants that I hardly ever change. I only have three different pairs of pants. And my underwear is just shorts. Not panties or anything like that. If I wear any, it's shorts.   
"You getting fucking shy now?" He asks. I glance at him and flinch back into the wall. He's already fucking naked. And suddenly I feel nauseous. I haven't seen anyone naked since Ivan. I haven't been NEAR anyone naked since Ivan. And he beat me within an inch of my life. It hurt. He hurt me. He hurt me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a ride!  
>  Sorry about the late update, Christmas ruined me. Hope the long chapter made up for it?


	18. UPDATE

NO CHAPTER THIS WEEK GUYS. I'M REALLY SORRY, BUT I'M MOVING AND THE HOLIDAYS HAVE COMPLETELY MURDERED THE TIME I TAKE TO WRITE. I WILL UPDATE SOMETIME THIS WEEK TO MAKE UP FOR THIS AND ON SUNDAY NEXT. SUPER SORRY GUYS!


	19. Negan's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is short, and in a different point of view. Enjoy

[Her demeanor became pale. All the blood draining from her face at once. The instant she saw his naked body, and it was only in a glance, she lost all sense of reality. Every part of her went cold. Sweat started to bead at her forehead and on the back of her neck. Along with her mid back and under her arms. Her stomach churned inside her. Over and over like a washing washing. Only the door that's supposed to hold everything inside wasn't really working. Her hand shot up to her mouth as her heart rate spiked too fast. It was all she could hear in her ears. Not even Negan's authoritative voice, asking her what the fuck, could bring her back to attention. The only thing she could manage to do was rush to the toilet.   
And rush to the toilet she did. She barely made it before her stomach threw her a curve ball of mashed potatoes and assorted veggies. It wasn't much, admittedly, but the smell filled the room in an instant. Putrid and painful to both the eyes and the nose. Her arms gripped the toilet, the not clean by any stretch toilet, for dear life. If she hadn't been holding on, she probably would have fallen in, or backwards onto her ass. The noises she made were....similar to that of the dead outside the walls of the Sanctuary.   
Negan kneeled down next to her and pulled her long brown hair out of her face. It was normal for her to have it down unless she and him were on a run. He hold her hair in one hand while gently rubbing on of his large hands over her back. He works his hand just between her shoulder blades in a small circle. He's don't this before, just never for her. He's never seen her lose herself before. The expression on his face is usual for him, in that, he's worried for her. Had she eaten something bad, or was it honestly him that caused this?   
Normally he'd be insulted at such an adverse reaction, and would if he hadn't read the book. But he strangely enough, understands her apprehension towards him. It's a patience and kindness he'd never show anyone else. He doesn't. But he'll never disrespect the wishes of his sexual partners. But she's more than that. She's a friend. He hates seeing her in pain. That is evident in the worry he shows, and how gentle he's being towards her. Rubbing her back and holding her hair. Normally he'd leave someone to suffer on their own. HE has no desire to with her.   
"Sorry. I-I'm sssssssssorrry." Her voice is very quiet. Not by her doing. Her throat is raw and still trying to close. She's terrified without realizing she's terrified. Her body is having a very negative reaction to the shock her mind is going through. She thinks she's going to be in trouble for this. But Negan shakes his head.   
"Get it the fuck out, Doll." His voice is low, as if he's tired. Stiff from the last week's activities. He's very tired. He enjoys her company, but he doesn't enjoy being so worried about her all the time. He just wants to sleep. Understandably. But he won't. "Feel any fucking better?" He asks her once the heaving stops. But she doesn't answer him. Instead she falls backwards. He tries to catch her, but the attempt is futile.She falls back, completely unconscious, still sweaty from the attack. "God motherfuckin damnit, Doll." He mutters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUPER sorry this was so late and so short. I'm an asshole, I know. I've got a lot more written, and I'll be posting again soon, I promise. Really really sorry about this, guys.


	20. I'm Not a Patient Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YO I'm so sorry this is so late, guys. But hey, it's getting interesting, I hope. See you all next week!

"Mm." I groan.   
My body jerked to try to wake me up. That's not a very good tactic considering how much pain I'm in right now. Everything seems to be pounding. My head, it's like someone has a hammer inside it trying to get out. And my heart's going too fast. I'm sweating almost through my......shirt that's not here. And my stomach keeps turning over in me. Why am I not wearing a shirt OR pants? Just in my bra and shorts. Did I fall asleep like this last night? I don't even remember FALLING asleep last night. That's the weirdest thing. This isn't my bed. At all. FUCK my throat hurts. And my breaths tastes awful. WHY?   
"You're finally the fuck awake. You feel okay?" Negan. I look to my right to find him sitting at his desk working on something. Probably another map for the next run. So I'm in my underwear, feeling like shit, in his bed. I a, mot going to consider this a good thing. And no, I don't feel better. Not a bit. I don't feel great at all. He looks at me over his glasses.   
"What hap-happened?" My voice sucks. My throat fucking hurts. It's like I swallows sand and glass it's so dry and scratched up. I'm not entirely sure how or why this happened, but....I'm hoping it's because I'm sick. I'd rather be sick.   
"You passed the fuck out, that's what happened. Fuckin about to take a goddamn shower, then bam. Out like a fucking light. There's water on the table. You need to drink that shit right now. Then take a fucking shower and get back in here." He orders. Oh. I what? Really? I fainted? I really fainted? I don't remember anything after leaving Brownie.I wish I remembered more about what happened. I can't fucking believe I fainted. "You gonna be alright?" His voice is quieter now, and he's preoccupied with work again. But he doesn't look angry.   
"Yes. A-are you? I'm....I-i'm sssssssorry." He frowns at me when he looks up.  
I quickly move to grab the glass of water from the table next to his bed. I almost knock it off the table I'm so fucking pathetically clumsy. And tire.d And just....humiliated. I fainted in front of him. He saw me faint. And by the feel on my throat, I probably puked on myself. UGH. I'm clumsy and stupid and pathetic. I hate myself. I should be able to do better than this. I like this guy, he's the first guy I have literally EVER had a choice in. I'm fucking it up. And not in the way I want it to get fucked up.   
"If you had been anyone the fuck else, I'd be fucking insulted. Take your goddamn shower." He orders. "And calm the fuck down. I'm not fucking mad at you." You sound mad.   
I passed out. I PASSED OUT. That's awful. I need to do as he says. Redeem myself somehow so he forgets that I'm like this. Do as he says. The water feels great going down. It's stale and slightly warm, but that's how it is when it's been sitting for awhile. At least it's clean. Readily available. We're all grateful for that. Again, it feels nice going down. I can't believe I passed out. VOMITED and passed out. In front of HIM. I can't believe this. I can't believe how much of a fucked up failure I am right now. Honestly. What the fuck is wrong with me?   
"Can you fucking get to the fucking shower?" He asks. GET to the shower? I set the now empty glass of water back on the bedside table and nod.   
"Yes sir." I answer quietly. Probably too quietly, considering I can feel him staring at me.   
Shower. Wash the embarrassment off. Get back up. Just like Pyat does in the book all the time. Get back up. Get back up. It's okay. I sigh and push myself off the large bed before padding towards the bathroom. Of course it's not that easy. I stumble a bit, and my body feels more than a little numb when I the blood rushes from my head. But....I'm absolutely fine. A little spacey and sore, and definitely humiliated, but I'm fine. I have to be. Everyone has to be in this day and age, right?   
I can't believe I'm this stupid. I shouldn't be. I wish I wasn't. I wish I....remembered. Wish I wasn't so pathetic. I fainted. He saw me faint. I've only done that a few times, and only once was is front men. That was two years ago, when I found the first people I didn't see before they saw me. And.....as soon.....as SOON as the man touched me, grabbed my shoulder, I was out cold. When I woke up, his neck was snapped. It's something I never did after that, but I always sort of feared it. But I doubt I really did anything. Just self defense. I wouldn't o it to Negan. He's never posed a threat to me. Not directly.   
"Evelyn." I jump into the wall at his voice. Fuck how do I NEVER fucking hear people coming. He didn't move the curtain aside, that's good. Not sure exactly how that would have gone.   
"Hhhhuh?" I ask. It's probably pathetic that I have to grab the wall just to fucking stay upright. His shower curtain is black, so there's no chance of seeing anything through it. But there's a light above the shower, nothing fancy, just a light above the water. It's enough to see with.   
"I'm not a very fucking patient man." His voice is low, but not relaxed. Neither is it low angry, though. IT's just.....a weird tone, I guess. I don't really know.   
"I-I-I-I-" I'm not sure how to respond to that. Does he want me out of here already? I just got in a minute ago. My hair isn't even all the way wet. He wanted me to get clean, it was hard enough to get my clothes off. Hurt quite a bit. An I'm still caked in sweat.   
"Four fucking wives I can fuck whenever I want. I'm allowing myself to be fucking patient with you. Read that fucking book o yours. Girl in it had shit. Messed the fuck up kind of shit that I couldn't think up if I fucking tried. It's a wonder that fucking girl got her fucking mind back." I nod in agreement. But this isn't making any sense to me. Normally he makes sense. Even in metaphors I understand him. But this time I'm not following.   
"N-negan......wwwwwwwhat-what-what arrrrre you t-trying to sssssssay?" I ask. Maybe he's confused? Or he didn't like the story? I don't know, I can't figure him out. I don't even understand why he brought them up. He mad at me or something? Have I done something? I mean yeah, I fainted.   
"I'm fucking tired of waiting." I jump back when the curtain moves.  
He basically shoves it out of the way. And now he's just standing there looking like Negan. Shirtless Negan at that. But I'm NAKED. And bruised and filthy. And holy shit no one's seen me naked in three years. I've never....I hate being exposed. My entire body tenses everywhere. My eyes flit to the floor of the shower where the water is quickly draining at my feet. Which are filthy. My heart is racing, and I know it's going too fast for this to turn into a normal night. His eyes are raking over me. They're going to judge every bit of me they see. The untaken care of parts, and the dirty parts, and the scarred parts. It's what happens every time a man see's me.   
I feel cold. There are several scars all over my body. Nearly all of them from Ivan. I would assume ninety percent. Five to seven of the remaining would be from me. Two from David. Only one from my original home. One that's long since faded, but is visible if you look closely enough. The procedure was medical, and for the purpose of ensuring I don't cost too much extra for my owners. Or cause problems. Messes. Accidents. It's a few inches below my belly button. The scar is normal for us. The ones like me that are sold for the purpose of sex. Pleasure. Completely rid the toy of it's ability to procreate.   
"You can fucking breathe, Evelyn. I told you I won't fucking hurt you." His voice is a little stiff, maybe deeper than before. But....I'm honestly too nervous and downright scared to say anything.   
To start simply, I'm five foot five. My skin is tanned from the last three years of hardly being out of the sun. I am nearly skeleton skinny from the lack of food brought on by the apocalypse, but I have stretch marks on my stomach and the backs of my thighs. From my feet to my knees there are faint thin scars. Five of them if I'm to be exact. They're on the backs of my calves, right on the meat of my legs. Three on my right going slightly slanted from left to right. Two on my left, slanted, but not as much as the others. From my knees to my waist I have several more. More of the same type of scar, only slightly thicker. I haven't fully counted them yet, but I imagine there are several.   
Of course, there's the scar on my ass from being smacked to the point of bleeding. On my right hip, just above the bone, are fingernail scars. Ivan and David were both rough enough that they'd leave scars on me from just holding on. Above my waist, and below my neck, are two scars. One from the healing arrow hole, and another from David. Jagged, but small. From my shoulders to my finger tips, there are a few scars. One on my shoulder from Jackson biting me a bit hard once. Towards my shoulder blade, but still on the shoulder. And then there are the scars I gave myself. You know those already, so I'll skip over them. There's a scar on the inside of my left hand from when my knife slips. Towards the beginning of the apocalypse, I had to train. So that's where it came from. And from my neck up, there's only the bite on the back of my neck. It doesn't sound like much, but they're many, and they're visible.   
"How high can you lift your fuckig arms?" He asks. Arms? My arms? Why? Do you wish to see UNDER them or something? Why? I don't understand.   
"Nnnnnnnnnot-not abbbbbbb-ab-ab-ab-" You need to calm down, Evelyn. For sure. You have to chill the fuck out right the fuck now. "Abovvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvemy hhhhhead." I answer. Getting my shirt off was fuckin hard. Bra, too.   
"Let me help you clean your fuckingself off. You're fucking filthy." I cringe. Am I that dirty? Of course I am, I mean look at me. I'm dirty. For everything that's happened to me. I'm foolish to think he'd ever like my body. Just fucking childish. "Move." What? I frown when I look at him. He's in nothing now. And e's standing just outside the shower. I close my eyes as soon as I see that he's not wearing clothing, but get out of his way. Can't bring myself to open my eyes again, though. That's probably me being a coward. Always been a coward when it comes to people.   
"Why?" I whisper. Why would he WANT to see me like this? I'm pathetic. And dirty. And scarred. I don't deserve anything. I'm trash. I'm meant to be property. It's why I was created. Negan steps closer, I can hear that much in his movement.   
"Because you can't fucking wash yourself. I'll do it for you. It's what people fucking do in the fucking shower." He answers. WASH? Me? Why? Why would he do that? I don't...understand why he wants to do that. It's what people do in showers. Right. Sure. Just go with it. Recover, weirdo. He wouldn't lie to you. He never has before. If he says he wants to do this, he wants to do it. Suck it up, little girl.   
I flinch, no I jump. I jump when his hands appear on my shoulders. Kind of an innocent place to start, but practical, I suppose. I would have thought he'd go straight for the boobs. I'm glad he didn't, though. That probably would have been harder, if I'm being honest. And I can't remove my eyes from the floor of the shower. I just can't look at anything that isn't his feet. They're muscular, and I can see the veins popping out of them. Which is weird. That, and they have black hairs growing out of them. Which is arguably kind of bleh, but normal for a guy. Or anyone, I think.   
"Well you didn't fucking pass out. Good fucking start. You gonna fucking vomit?" He asks me. Vomit. Good question. My stomach IS turning over inside of me. But I don't think I'm going to vomit. Not necessarily. So I shake my head. "Good."   
His hands feel.....good. Not overly rough like I thought. Like I was trained to think. The only one ever nice to me in the shower was Jackson. That's only because I bathed alone when I was with him. Everyone else was rough and cruel. Especially Ivan. But Negan's hands, while rough in texture, aren't rough in how they feel while washing me. Funny enough, they're like their own washrags or something. He spends plenty of time on my shoulders and arms. So much so that I almost let myself relax. It's nice to.....not feel awful. I guess.   
"When do you get to remove the bandage?" He asks once he finishes with my arms. Now he's working on my neck. And THAT is scary. He's touching my neck- washing it- and not strangling me. I DO know what that feels like. When his thumbs get to the point where they're pressing on my throat, I have to flinch. There's no stopping it. I step back and bend down to grab my thighs. He won't touch you like that. "What the fuck did I do? I didn't press too fuckin hard." I shake my head, forcing myself to stand back upright. I just shake my head again and point to me. "You're too goddamn scared. Refuckinglax. Turn the fuck around." He orders. Turning around. That's not that hard. the worst he could do is snap my neck. Shower rape really isn't the best for either party. He wouldn't do that anyways. Ever. He abhors rape here.   
"Msorry." I manage to get out. His hands find my shoulder blades and start to work them over with whatever wash he's using. It smells nice. That's....good. Smells a little like him, honestly. Which isn't that surprising. It's not a bad smell. Kind of musky. But sweet at the same time. Hard to describe. Smells are always the hardest to describe. But this smell if very good. I've never hated it.   
"Just fuckign relax." He responds quietly. Right. Because I can do that on command. Jackbutt.   
His hands work their magic quickly. The soap isn't very....I can't feel the soap. I can just feel his hands. They feel bigger when they're on me. Rough, too. I already said that, but on my back it's less evident that they're rough. They dig into my shoulder blades a bit painfully at one point. But after I cringe he seems to pull back on the force he's using. He washes from my shoulder blades down my back. Continuously working in circles. Sometimes I think he uses his knuckles and presses harder. About the time he gets to the base of m spine, I'm actually a lot less tense. My arms stay crossed over my chest, and my neck is stiff. But my back and arms are relaxed. Or as relaxed as they can be at this point.   
"You gonna freak out when I touch you?" He asks. Touch me? You're already touching me- oh. My ass and breasts, I think. I just shake my head. Though I don't really know the answer, I want to try. HE can't be as bad as Ivan or even David. He wouldn't hurt me like that. "Good." He doesn't hesitate after that.  
But he doesn't do what I expect him to do. No. His hands come around my body to my stomach. My stomach. And woah if that's not what I Thought he was going for. His body is very warm behind me. Just barely ghosting over my back while he very carefully washes my stomach. Just above my hips and up. It tickles to shit, if I'm perfectly truthful. But I don't laugh, instead I gasp and cover my mouth to STOP from laughing. His huff of.....satisfaction, I hope, is felt on my left shoulder. Fuck this tickles. Do not giggle. Stop. No. Don't giggle. FUCK. NO LAUGHING. Well all of that goes out the window when he touches my bruise. Because I flinch at the sting of it. But he doesn't stop. Lets up on his pressure a bit, but definitely doesn't stop. That spot doesn't take him long to wash over. Once he's done there, he quickly washes my sides, which I DO giggle at, and then travels up to my breasts.   
"Mm." I whimper out.   
It's safe. He won't hurt you. You're safe. He washes under them, over them, and around them. Doesn't make a big deal out of any part of it whatsoever. I don't know what to do with my arms, though, since his are under them. I sort of have them clasped together under my chin, since I can't relax in any way at all. He's touching me. For the first time. Not forcing it, not hurting me, not fucking me. Washing me. Not how I imagined it, but no bad. It feels good, if nothing else. Once he's done there, he goes up to my clavicles and rubs tiny circles into them. I have to drop my arms awkwardly over his so he can get at me, though. It's awkward. Very awkward. He finishes that in under a minute before taking his hands back.   
"Turn around, Doll." He sounds relaxed. Why does HE sound relaxed?  
I nod and slowly turn around. This time I CAN'T look down. If I do, I'll have full view of him. Not that I need right now. It would just freak me out more and I know it. So I'm staring at his chest. The salt and pepper hair that's lightly dusting his chest above his stomach. On his stomach, there's a small trail leading down. In art, they're call something like that, something along the lines of a leading line. It carries your line of sight through the piece. Anyways, I'm staring at his chest. Though even THAT goes away because he's kneeling now. I almost jump away from him again, but he stops me by grabbing my right ankle. He's really going to do this? All the way from my shoulders to my feet? Isn't that beneath him? Like....he's our leader. And here he is, washing me. I'm just his body guard.   
"Tickle?" He teases when I let out a breathy giggle. When he looks up at me, I just nod since words just aren't working for me right now, and cover my mouth with my hand. Fuck that tickles. That tickles a LOT. That tickles TOO MUCH. Relief. He moves up to my ankle, and then up my leg to my knee. It feels nice, but the higher he gets, the more afraid I get. Is he saving the middle for a specific reason? About the time he gets to my thighs, I can't stop my hand from grabbing his wrist. My eyes have to be saucers. They feel that way. He looks up at me curiously. "Alright. Fuckin fine this time. But next time you don't get to fuckin stop me." He goes to my other foot and repeats the process of cleaning my left leg. Again, it tickles to shit, and again, I Giggle. But I feel a little bit like a failure for angering him. Or irritating him. I never liked saying no. "There. Now you're not fucking filthy. But Jesus fuck, did all those fucking scars come from the same fuckin person?" He asks. I shake my head. Most of them, yes. But some are me, some are David, most are Ivan. A couple are from from the apocalypse. "Come the fuck on." He orders. He steps out of the shower, the now very hot shower, and goes to his small metal, self-made towel rack on the wall across fro the shower.   
"Kay." I mumble more to myself than to him.   
There's a very soft small carpet mat just outside the shower that I step on. And getting out feels great. I feel great. Clean. Great in a general sense of I'm naked with Negan, but hey, at least I'm clean. He hands me a towel, dark blue, and takes another for himself. It's just a normal towel, only a bit bigger than I'm used to. Mine's thin and and very small. Too small for me, but big enough to wrap around me. I've had it since the beginning of the apocalypse. This one is amazing. I didn't even remember what a new towel could feel like.   
"Mmm. Thank you." I nod towards him and collect my clothing from the sink where I had folded them. I'll wash my hair next week, if I get the chance. I have a bottle of shampoo that I sort of managed to steal before I ever got here. Negan almost took it, but I saved his life, so he let me keep it. More, I said I wasn't giving it up. Funny how we've changed since then.   
"I'll bring you food. You're supposed to be on fucking bed-rest for the rest of the fucking week." He orders. Wait what? I frown as I turn around. He's already managed to get his pants on. I hate him for his mobility right now. But I'm grateful he Has pants on now. Less awkward.   
"Wwwwwhat ab-ab-about-bout Brownie?" I ask. I have to feed and walk her. AND bathe her. Dammit, that's already so much work. Negan sighs.   
"I'll fucking get someone to take fucking care of your fucking dog. Go lay the fuck down." He orders. NOW he sounds irritated. I'm already blurry from the shower, so I flinch at his angry tone and quickly step back out of the room.   
"Yes-y-yes sir." I answer quietly. I make sure the door is closed behind me before I allow myself to breath.   
Pathetic. He SHOULD scare me. It's his job. I'm below him. I'm his body guard. But I don't WANT to be afraid. I'm not supposed to be. I hate being afraid of everything. I should be better. I should be better than this. Brownie needs ME, not one of Negan's men. I can walk around. I can function. Sure it hurts, but I can DO it. e shouldn't be able to just decide that for me. Carol said I could be out of bed this week if I was careful. I'm BEING careful. Why does it feel like I'm in trouble? I shouldn't be. I didn't do anything WRONG. If he didn't want me to have the dog, he shouldn't have offered. And I gave him fair warning about ME. Who and what I am. He should have known that the shower would scare me. This is about last night.   
"It's okay." The near silent words are often spoken when they're needed.   
It feels like I'm about to lose it and cry. Like my chest is being stepped on, and breathing is getting hard. But I can't cry right now. Negan will see. And he'll want to know why, and he'll just be MORE angry. This thought process only makes me MORE afraid, and want to cry MORE. Obviously dressing myself is hard, but I get it done. Long sleeved shirt, bra, pants. Then I do as he says and get back in his bed. I can pretend to sleep or something. That way maybe he'll leave me alone and I can cry without him getting angry. Without him thinking I'm a complete pathetic failure of a human being. that's what I can do. All I can do.   
"I'll be back, Doll. Try and fucking rest. I'll get you some food." I flinch when the door slams shut. Good. At least now I can cry in peace. I fucked this up. And now I'm failing Brownie, because I apparently can't do anything right. And Negan's mad. Of Course I mean I freaked out over his stupid body. Not stupid. His body is NOT stupid.   
I'M stupid. I'M the one in the wrong here. I fainted because I saw him naked. I don't even remember it, but I saw him naked. That had to be annoying. And I got shot, and worried him. And I'm a liability now. That's another reason he's mad. He pities me. I'm a nuisance. And he hates dogs, and now I have one. In the room next door, too. That has to be the fucking worst. But he got it because I wanted one. He's nice like that. And now he has to DO things. Stoop to my level to help me. Have me in his room, in his shower.....in his bed. i'm just a pathetic little girl, and he pities everything about me.


	21. Chapter 21

"Mmmmm." I groan into the flat surface in front of my face. It's cold, and it's hard. Probably a wall. It wouldn't surprise me much.   
Not the first time I've woken up with my face pressed to something. Wall, pillow, desk, blanket. I sleep in weird fucking places. But i can already tell, not only by the arm slung around my waist, but by the rather LOUD snoring behind me, that I'm still in Negan's bed. Probably been sleeping most of the day. It's what I did yesterday, since I was 'under the weather' or whatever. Negan said James volunteered to look after Brownie until I got better. Even gets to bring her by once a day. Which is extremely nice. I love seeing her. She makes my whole day get better.   
"Hmm." I groan. Fuck when did I roll onto my left side and WHY the fuck would I do that to myself? Fuck. Fuck. Owwwww. It hurts.  
Negan stirs a little behind me. He's really warm at least. That's a good thing. The heat makes the pain feel less. And as soon as he starts making noise and moving is the moment I stop. I hate waking him up. I feel good right up until he wakes up. Then I'm reminded that I have a reason to be nervous. I SHOULD be nervous. He's fun, and he's good, but he makes me nervous, and he scares me. Even if he promised he wouldn't hurt me. Being in this room all day for two straight days has me.....a little on edge, I guess. He's always here, and he doesn't care that I'm here when he's naked.   
"You fuckin awake Doll?" He asks lazily. Luckily, he sleeps in sweatpants. Or shorts, according to him, when it gets hot. But I've only seen sweatpants so far. I stare at the wall for a few seconds. Should I answer? Yes, idiot. I nod my head. "Good. Changing your fucking bandage, your clothes, and then I'm going on a fucking run today." The one you were supposed to go on two days ago, but blew off just to make sure I settled into your room. I just nod again.   
This feels like one of those days. Where I don't want to move, or talk, or do much of anything. Most days, it's not that I don't have the desire to talk, I just don't have the motivation to try. But on days like this, it's like my entire being is being pulled down by my chest. Everything just feels too heavy. Too much. And I get really tired, and everything seems kind of pointless and tiring. So I don't bother to do it. They never happen when I'm around Negan, though. If anything, they happen more when he's gone. Or right AFTER I've been on a run with him. That makes sense to me. But this makes a little less sense.   
"Another nightmare?" He asks once he has me on my back. Maybe it's rainy today. I love the rain, more than any other weather. But sometimes it has an adverse effect than normal. Which feels like a wasted day of rain, in my opinion. Least Negan's hands always manage to feel good. Again, all he gets is a nod. They're not getting better. worse, if anything. Probably triggered by getting naked with him, kissing him. The sexual changes in my life are triggering memories. I'm not stupid, I understand it. "Should be back tonight. Next time I go on a fucking run, I expect you there with me." Suddenly all I can think about is Alexandria. How they looked at me when they were leaving. Like I was a bug they hated. I don't want to go back there. I don't think I could take seeing that look in their eyes. Not after they'd been so kind.   
"I-I don't- " Breathe. "I d-don't-don't wwwwant to go b-back-ck to Alexxxxxxxxx- " He meets my eyes, managing to shut me up with just that. He's tired, it's too early for an argument. He hates them first thing in the morning. Incidentally, that's when the most shit breaks out.   
"Afraid of getting fucking shot with a fucking arrow again?" He jokes. I wish it were that simple. He sighs. "You're my fucking body guard, Evelyn. You're going the fuck with me. This'll be healed by then, you can take enough pain to fucking move. Defend yourfuckingself." I always defend myself. And of course I'll do my job.   
Maybe I'm not SUPPOSED to do this job. Maybe I'm meant to feel pain for the rest of my life. Maybe getting shot was a sign that I should just give up and die. I'm already so close to that fate already, I don't see the problem in accelerating the timeline a little. I mean, I was just a shiny new thing to those people. They liked me until Negan came back, and they remembered who I was. And to them, I'm the enemy. I'm nothing. A distraction. Liability. I get in the way. Maybe when I saved Negan, that was the only good thing I ever did in my life. Only truly useful thing.   
"Evelyn, when the fuck is your fuckin birthday?" He asks suddenly. Birthday? I frown at him as he cleans my wound off a little. It's cold and tickles, but the question is distracting enough. Off the wall and fucking sudden. As hell.   
"Uhm.....I-I don't...I don't know." I answer honestly. Never celebrated it before. But it feels like it would be in Winter.   
"When'd we meet?" He asks. Almost exactly seven months ago.   
"February." I answer. Easy answer to an easy question. I somehow managed to figure out the day a few years ago, and now I try to give a shit. My computer has the date on it, I know that one. He nods.   
"Choose a day in February that isn't motherfucking Valentine's Day." February. That's the....short month?   
"Five." I answer. Favourite number, don't see why not. Negan nods, smoothing over the bandage on my side.   
"February fifth is your birthday now. I'll say you're twenty, that way you're twenty one this year. How's the fuck does that sound?" He asks. Oh. I lay my head back in shock. Twenty. I FEEL nineteen. But twenty one is the drinking age, I think. My birthday is in February? In the books I've read, that's a bad month to be born in. Well, I always liked it, actually. It's about love. So I'm born in the month of love. The thought makes me smile.   
"When-when's yours?" I ask quietly. I feel weirdly happy now. Didn't think something so small could change my mood so much. I'm not stupid, but.....wow. I had no idea. That's amazing. I have a birthday in my favourite month. Funny, my favourite season is Fall, but my favourite month is in winter.   
"August 28th." He answers. Cool. Damn. Fuck. We passed it already. "That still fucking hurt?" He asks. Feels good to get that over with. I'm wearing a shirt, but I hate wearing shirts to sleep. I just....don't know. I can't get comfortable with him seeing me naked. Or even just in a bra. It...feels weird.   
"Little." I answer honestly. Ugh, I want to walk around. I need to be outside. I CAN walk, Negan. He's being annoyingly leadery in his orders that I stay down. It's dumb. I don't like being in here all the damn time. "Whhhhhen can I....g-go outside?" I ask quietly. He's moving so he's sitting on the edge of the bed. I can't help staring at his back. There aren't any tattoos on him, like I always expect.   
"When you can fucking defend yourfuckingself." He answers.   
"Good. I-I can g-go." I joke. He's not amused a bit by the words. Not a bit. I don't blame him, I'm awful at joking. And it's a quiet day for me anyways. I should just roll over and go back to sleep. I want to. I smile at him when he looks at me over his shoulder. He hates me challenging hid authority, but he loves my sense of humor. Unfortunately for him, they come hand in hand.   
"I'll be back." He mutters, dragging himself from the bed. I just nod, rolling onto my right side so I can go back to sleep. Maybe try not to have a nightmare. I'm happy they're getting less frequent, honestly. IT's nice to have good dreams every now and then. Fuck I hate nightmares. But it's not like they're going away. I flinch when the door reopens. "Fucking forgot something." Is all he says as he makes his way back over to me. Forgot what? You have everything including Lucille.   
He's abrupt when he kisses me this time. His beard burns my cheeks where it makes contact. And he isn't as gentle as he was the first time. OR the second time. It's...aggressive. He even growls. I grab at his arms for something to hold onto, but kiss him back. He hasn't done this since Alexandria. It's....more than a little nerve wracking. Though it's pathetic that I whimper when he does it. He bites my bottom lip after a few seconds. I'm reeling. This is pathetic for me to react like this. But he's the only one that's ever not hurt me when he kissed me. Once he gets me to open my mouth, it's tongue domination on his end.   
"Yup. Knew I fuckin forgot something." He marvels, pulling away. Fuck how can you just pull away like that? It's mean. I can't even open my eyes, much less form words. Hardly fair. I lick my lips as he walks back out without another word. Stupid him for making me stay in bed. Ugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woop woop. Any thoughts, guys?


	22. Let's Talk About James....

"Hey B." I snuggle her to my neck as soon as James outs her on the bed.   
NEgan left a little while ago for whatever reason. I think he mentioned something about going on a run today. Hilltop run, maybe? I already forgot. I've been sleeping all day, and it feels great. Maybe a little heavy in the head, but that's just because I never sleep this much. This deeply. It's nice to not be riddled with nightmares. And since the kiss earlier, I've been very relaxed. Weirdly. I would have thought something like that wold work me up more. Have me on edge. But I feel fine. Apart from the hole in my chest. Side, not chest.   
"She's been good." James says. I'm giggling like a stupid idiot at Brownie. She's cuddled herself into my neck, and is now licking my ear. It tickles to shit. Makes James grin. "I walk her twice a day, make sure she goes. Feed her. The guys in the kitchen think she's adorable, which she is. And she minds really well." That's great news. I was really worried she'd be rowdy. I carefully sit up and put her in my lap. "She also loves sleeping on my arm at night. Always wake up thinking someone cut it off." I giggle again.   
"Thank you, J-james." It's good she's not alone at night. It really is. She shouldn't be. "Whhhat-what else is g-going on? How're you?" I ask him. Since I only see him once a day now, it's kind of hard to really catch up. He looks tired, but good. His hair is getting longer. I wonder how long it's been since he cut it.   
"I'm good. Taking time off going out until you get better. Hate to come back just to find out my favourite girl's dead." He jokes. I smile at him while petting Brownie, who's finally settling a little. "The kitchen's running out of good baking ingredients, though. Thinking about that for the next time I'm out." Hmm, the last time they baked something was a couple weeks ago, I think. Pie, or something like it. Need flour to bake anything anymore, right? I've never learned to cook, so I'm not entirely sure. "The place is a lot more relaxed without NEgan being around, I can say that much. Why are you holed up in here, anyways? One of his collection now?" He asks.  
Collection. I keep putting them out of my mind. Pretending they aren't a thing that actually exist, even if they do. I never know exactly what to think about what's going on between me and Negan. I just know I don't want to be one of them. I respect them, but I just can't be them. I LIKE going out, I LIKE the freedom I have. There's a lot to figure out if I wind up sleeping with Negan. Questions I won't even ask myself, because I don't want to answer them, yet. I'm afraid to answer them. I'm afraid of being what I used to be. Just another toy to be used for sex. Intimacy. Then ignored until I'm wanted again.   
"No." I answer simply. "I-I'm hhhhhhhis g-guard. Hhhhhe's....r-repaying thhhhe fav-vour." Brownie's eyes are so green. They're beautiful. Truly, they are. True innocence. James sighs.   
"You'll tell me when you're ready. But don't think I'm not still looking forward to that dinner you owe me." Dinner? I frown at him.   
"D-dinner?" I ask. He just smiles and nods.   
"You said the only reason you were saying no was Negan and the puppy. In a week, neither of hem will keep you from dinner. So you'll either have to reject me or= "   
"I-I can do that?" I ask. I CAN reject a guy? I mean I know other people can do it, but I've never been allowed to before. James frowns at my question. Or maybe that I asked it a tall.   
"I would hope you wouldn't want to, but yes. You can reject me." He answers simply.   
It feels very weird knowing I can do that. So weird that I don't have time to not cry. To even try to stop the tears before they're flowing. Shit. I've never cried in front of him before. But the wave of.....relief, I think, is too much to ignore. I've never had the chance to reject anyone here. Mostly because NEgan sort of claimed me, in a way, when I came here. I was his guard, no one came near me. And James doesn't seem offended or angry that I'm saying no to him. That's.....so weird.   
"Are you okay? Are you in pain?" He asks. Pain? Hardly. I'm so happy. He won't hit me or rape me or PUNISH me for saying no. Though I kind of can't believe I'm crying right now. In a way. But I'm also not surprised, considering me. But holy fuck. "Evs, speak to me. What the hell is wrong?" He asks. And about this time is when I'm starting to feel a bit of panic because I haven't told him about my past before. Negan's the only one that really knows. I scoot back with Brownie, who's licking my jaw to try to get my attention, and try to even my breathing out. Make myself stop crying. Stop crying. Brownie is right in my face, licking me. Even yipping a little. But very quietly. The way she rubs against my chest kind of hurts. She's distracting me. "Come here, baby." He picks her up and lifts her into his arms. The freedom allows me to breathe a little more, but I still feel kind of....confused.   
"Sorry." I mumble. My breathing is hitched, and more than a little pathetic. I feel completely awful about almost everything all the time. This is pathetic. He's my best friend.   
"Don't be? I don't understand what's happening. Are you okay?" He asks. I just nod while wiping my eyes. Stop crying. Stop right this second.   
"I-I-" I take a breath. "I- " I shake my head. Can't even say words. Use words, form words. "I-" STOP SAYING I. You're being stupid. Stop being stupid . Form words. Form real words. Breathe and form real words, Evelyn.   
"Are you in pain?" He asks again. I shake my head. "Good. So what's wrong? Did I offend you?" Offend me? I shake my head again. This is, of course, when the door opens. He's only been gone like...oh wait I fell asleep. It could be late, I guess. I just didn't expect Negan to be here so soon. The sudden entrance makes us all jump. Including Brownie, who was licking James's neck. Now she's hiding. Negan takes maybe three steps before stopping to glare at James.   
"The fuck are you doing here so fucking late? Get out." Negan orders stiffly.   
He's covered in blood. That's the first thing I notice. He's drenched from head to toe in all kinds of blood. From the very bright crimson that normal healthy people bleed, to the near black goo that the Zombies have developed. It looks like he's....gone to war or something. He looks pissed off, too. Almost looks like he dipped his face in a bowl of blood, he's so covered in it. It's dripping down his neck into his shirt, which is white. He removes his black leather jacket and tosses it aside after he carefully sets Lucille by his desk in her normal spot. His white shirt is......wow. Splattered. I'd bet he was under someone when that happened. It's the only possible angle for the direction the blood spatter is taking.   
"I'll be back tomorrow. Are you going to be okay?" James asks me.   
How does he NOT ask Negan where all the blood came from? All I want to do is....like......make sure HE is okay. What if he has open wounds? What if the dead blood gets into his body and turns him? What if he's been bit? Someone should check him for bites. Make sure no blood got in him anywhere. He's so angry,he COLD have been bit. Or injured. I feel ice cold at the thought of someone getting the jump on him. I wasn't there to guard him. To watch his back. To make sure he was safe. Maybe it's my fault this happened. that he's hurt and dying. He sure looks angry.   
"Evs." James draws me back to reality. I look at him and nod. He looks confused. "I'll see you tomorrow?" He asks.   
"Y-yeah. Course. G-goooooooood night." I try for a smile, but I'm worried for Negan. Is he okay? James gets up with Brownie, who I pat the head of once more, and leaves. Negan is still stripping himself off while muttering to himself. And the first thing he reaches for once his shirt is off, is his bottle of whiskey in the middle drawer of his desk. "Negan-" He looks at me and I stop talking immediately. His look is...murderous. Bad enough that I have to look down.   
"Why the fuck are you crying? Did he make you fucking cry?" He asks. If it's possible, I think he gets even MORE angry. And I have to suppress a flinch every single time his feet hit the ground. Floor, not ground. He plops himself down firmly on the bed next to me. I DO flinch when I see his hand coming towards my face. "Refuckinglax, I am not going to hurt you. Why are you crying?" He asks. I think he's MAKING himself sound nicer. He won't hurt you, Evelyn. It's okay. Everything is okay.   
"Hhhhhhh- " Those aren't words. That's air. Speak. But I'm scared.   
"Did that fucker make you fucking cry?" He asks again. I can't shake my head, because technically he did. But...he's not why I'm crying. No. My heart's beating too fast. It's like I'm having an attack, but I'm not. Not really. "Speak when you're spoken to." He orders hard enough for me to flinch again. I motion to my mouth, then shake my head. Can't form words at the moment. I'm sorry. HE huffs out a growl that, again, makes me flinch. "Just nod your goddamn head. Did he make you cry?" I hesitate. It's so much more complicated than that. I shrug. "That isn't a fucking answer!" I jump this time, almost a foot in the air.   
"I'm sorry!" I yelp. What did I DO! YOu didn't answer him. ANSWER HIM. "I-I'vvvvve ne-nev-nev-nnnnn--nevver b-b-been ablet-to ssssay n-no. Thhhhhhhey n-never llllllet mmmmmme ss-say n-no. N-nev-never bbeen alllll-al-alowwwww-wed to sss-s-say n-no." Stop crying. Stop stuttering. You're just making this worse. All of it. Every part of you is a failure. All you ever do is disappoint.   
"Fucking- " He growls again. "Evelyn, fucking breathe. I'm not fucking mad at you. I'm taking a god damn shower." He mutters. Shower? Oh yeah, he came in covered in blood. BLOOD. I grab his hand before he can get too far.   
"Are you hurt? D-did anyone hhhhhhhhurt you?" I ask. All fear of him completely gone for the moment. More, there's fear FOR him. He frowns at me.   
"You don't answer my fucking question, and you expect me to answer yours?" HE asks. He sounds even more angry now. He makes me let him go, mostly by ripping his arm from me. Which.....scares me.   
"I've never....." He turns, showing me his blood soaked face. Fuck that's terrifying. He isn't isn't happy evil right now. He's pissed. "I-I-" Have to look away. "I c-couldn't-cou-coldn't ssssay no. B-before. I-I....wasn't al-all-allllllll-lowed. It......" I shake my head as more tears start falling down my cheeks. This isn't helping me breathe at all. "I-I.....I just.....it's.....big. T-to ssssssay n-no."   
"You aren't making ANY fucking sense. At all." He growls. I wince and nod.   
"James." I blurt. "Hhhhhhhhhe......h-he assssssked me o-out." My breathing hitches hard enough that I have to stop talking to breath.   
"I take it you fucking said no." He states. Deadpan. I just nod. "And that made you cry, or he fucking made you cry? Did he fucking hurt you?" He asks. I shake my head.   
"I- " A sob escapes me. But I've never been able to say no in my entire life. Not without punishment. It's fucking huge that I can now. Especially to Negan or James. They won't hurt me. So they say.   
"Let me fucking shower. I need to get this fucker's fucking blood the fuck off me. Then you can fucking tell me all about the fucking thing. How the fuck does that sound?" He asks. I nod, and another stupid fucking sob gets out of me. Somehow. Breathe, Evelyn. You need to breathe.   
"C-can I c-come?" I ask him. He shouldn't clean himself off alone. I want to know what happened. Also, it would not only help me focus my brain enough to calm down a bit, it would give me ample opportunity to check him for injury. And possibly get used to the idea of him being naked. He sighs at me.   
"You get in that fucking shower with me, I will fucking try to fuck you. That's just the fucking mood I'm in right now." Fuck me? My body gets colder at the thought.   
"But.....I-I can....say no?" I ask him. He just nods. "Ok-okay." I shrug and....start to slowly get up. Have to contribute. Make myself worth something. I can't lay around all day and do nothing. IT's boring. And like I said, I need to get used to him. He sighs, going to the bathroom without another word. I need a shower, anyways. Get over the stupid fucking cracked rib. Ugh. I hate it. Getting undressed is always a pleasure with it. So's moving. And breathing. But I get my shirt off easily enough.   
"You fucking hurting?" He asks. His voice penetrates the relatively quiet space of the bathroom.   
"Little. You?" I ask in return. Bending down to get at my pants is crazy hard. But I get it, because I have to. Want to. I need to.   
Negan doesn't answer my question, though. He just gets into the shower, leaving his clothing on the floor where he stripped. Me, I put mine on the sink before joining him. And he's under the stream, as he should be. Holy crap, he's......covered. He had to have been under this person when they died. Or at least when they were injured enough to produce this much blood on him. He's trying to wash it off. Without soap, because he's a genius. I grab the soap from the side of the tub, and get it wet. This is okay. You can do this. He did it for you, you can do it for him.   
I step forward and start to carefully move my hands towards him. I don't touch him until he nods his head yes. And then I sort of start where I would normally start. Yes, I've done this before. Just never for Negan. Never by choice. It's easy to fall back into the rhythm of washing. Only now I'm washing blood and zombie juice. It reminds me that it's him and not Ivan. Or David. Or Jackson. Any of them. This is Negan, and this is okay. And he's definitely covered. But it doesn't seem like there are any wounds on him.   
"Carlos fucking fell on me. The fucking goddamn numb nuts wasn't paying any fucking attention. Fucking got fucking tackled by a fucking dead guy. Fucking motherfucker got his throat torn out. Had to shoot them fucking both." Oh. Wow. Not what I expected at all. But...it explains the spatter pattern, I suppose.   
"I'm sorry." He seems to relax a little under my touch. His entire body is tense in a different way than mine when we showered together last time. Tense for different reasons. He's not nervous like I was. He's just wired. and stressed out. He lost someone today. Had to off them himself. Believe it or not, ladies and gentlemen, that effects him. Surprising that he didn't go straight for the whiskey.   
"It's his own motherfucking fault. What are you sorry for?" My hands are getting stained red from all the blood. Just from what I've washed between his stomach and shoulders.   
"Just sucks." I answer quietly. It's the truth. It sucks He deserves better than the shit of an entourage he has now. Seriously. They just...almost let him die like that? How could that guy be so fucking....   
"Don't apologize unless you're the one that fucked the shit up. Alright? Ever. Just don't fuckin do it." He growls. I'm working my way down his arms now. It's still awkward, but definitely not....I guess as awkward as being washed down myself. I like feeling his muscles. He has oddly normal muscles. Like.....he's defined. But also not unrealistic. Not overly buff. "Evelyn." I flinch.   
''Yes sir." I answer quietly. Just finish this and get the fuck over it. I don't ever know what he means by that. It's stupid. I'm stupid. Always. I always feel stupid anymore. "T-turn-turn a-around?" I ask. Should get his back. Or...his face. I shake my head. "Wait." Fuckin idiot. Try harder. Stop being such a fuckin failure. I sigh and slowly start towards his face. He's watching me pretty intensely. It's.....nerve wracking. I suppose. Being watched. But it's easier than, again, him washing me. I have to stand taller and closer to really get to his face. And looking up at him like this is just weird.   
"Wanna fucking explain to me just why the fuck you were crying?" He asks.   
I'm rubbing circles into his cheeks. I can feel the bones underneath the skin. It feels cool. His stubble is a bit ridiculous, though. He has a beard, obviously, but his upper cheeks are just stubble. Rough stubble at that. I like this. I like doing this. It's relaxing. Very calming to say the least. I didn't realize that I liked doing this kind of thing. I was always afraid. Till now, I guess. I feel almost...dutiful that I'm doing this. There's no other word coming to mind at the moment. I feel calm. Washing him off, keeping him clean. I get to his forehead and almost smile at the weird faces he's forced to make.   
"Fucking amused?" He asks. I smile at him and nod. I's just about the only thing I can manage at the moment.   
"Sorry sir." I mumble. Hey, words. That's good. This is going good.   
"What the fuck did I JUST fucking say to you?" He asks. I just nod again.   
"D-d'you....." I gesture to his beard. Awkwardly. He cocks an eyebrow at me, but nods. Okay.   
I frown at myself when I drag my fingers down to his chin and jaw. His beard is very....uh...what's the word for it? Rough to the touch for sure. uhm...I can't think of the word for it at the moment, honestly. But it's rough. I like it, It's nice. The soap washes through it easily enough. Turned a slight blackish red because of the goup in the hair. Which is, quite frankly, disgusting. But the point is that I'm doing it. And he seems to be enjoying it enough. He doesn't seem angry.   
"Hhhhhhe....." I clear my throat. "Asked...as-asked me to....hhhhhave din-dinner with hhhhhhim. An-and...." Take a breath. It's okay. "I- "   
"You're fucking sleeping with him" He mutters. I frown at him. Shaking my head is instinctive. But the thing about the accusation is just....insulting. I mean what kind of person does he think I am? What the FUCK kind of person does he think I am? Because it's not THAT. I wouldn't.   
"No. I-I......I sssssaid no." I answer quietly. "I-I-" That's seriously just wrong.   
How could he ever say that? About ME. I mean......I get it. I guess. With my past how it is, I guess I understand. I did things. I had to do things. I had to be a person I didn't want to be. Something I didn't choose. And he knows now. He knows who I was. He knows exactly what I was. He just...knows. And that can change how someone see's you. If they know who you used to be. Before the whole....apocalypse thing. He thinks I'm easy. That I'd do it for the fuck of it. He thinks that I'm just another whore. That doesn't care about who she.................fucks.   
"I'm....." I shake my head and leave. I won't....I'm not a whore. Not a mindless whore. I don't do that. I don't want to. I don't want to be spoken to like a stupid whore. Looked at differently because of a past that I never wanted. I can't deal with his bullshit right now. I won't. I won't let him convince me to be that thing again. I'm NOT a thing. I wouldn't do that to myself.   
I toss a shirt over my head as soon as I get out of the bathroom and dry off. Doesn't take more than a minute for me to get myself dry. Hate being naked longer than necessary. I skip the shorts and just put pants on after that. I don't want to fully dress right now. I just want to be covered. I want to stop being in my own fcuking body. That's what I fucking want. Just to be left the fuck alone. Never think about sex again. Never think about being a WHORE. I crawl under the large red comforter on Negan's bed, rolling onto my side extremely carefully. This puts my back to the room. Right now I could give a shit. As long as no one see's me, and I don't see them.   
"Doll." I'm acting like I'm asleep. Sometimes if I'd do that before shit hit the fan, they'd leave me alone. I hope Negan's the same. Honestly I deserve to be called a whore.   
Right? I mean.....with what happened to me? I deserved it. I was born into it. Sold, resold, given away. I was a thing. I still am, right? I'm his guard. I'm....his. I do what he says when he says. If I don't, he can do whatever he wants to me. That's just the truth. He could beat me with Lucille if he really wanted to. the only reason he doesn't is because I suit his needs. I make him smile, laugh, and keep him safe. I'm a pretty face, and an almost desirable body when you can't see the scars. As soon as I'm not useful to him, he'll toss me out. Didn't you see how fast he went from almost relaxed to completely pissed off once he thought I wasn't his?   
I was never under the impression that we were equals. That's.....no. He's the leader here. I get that. He's above me in rank and age and almost everything else. But I thought we were friends. That maybe he wouldn't WANT to hurt me. That I could HAVE my own life outside of him, and he'd...let me. I guess I haven't really had the chance to truly think about it. But so far he's let me have a life of my own. Am I just his? Does this mean that I HAVE to want him? Or that I can't have anyone else if it's not him? Is he going to mark me as his? Because I am not sure if I could take being property. I haven't cut myself with the intention of pain before, but the idea of being property again makes me want to.   
"I know you're awake." He mutters when he climbs into the bed with me. Honestly it's not that surprising. I'm shit at acting when I'm upset. "Did I fucking scare you?" He asks. The light's off in the room. That's nice. I feel......I need to sleep. That's what I need right now. Sleep.   
"Yes." I answer quietly. Every time I try to open my mouth, my jaw quivers. "Wwwww=" I take a deep breath to steady myself, but only accomplish making it worse. My throat hurts too much for me to speak after that. He makes me flinch painfully into the wall when his hand appears on my back.   
"Jesus, Doll, refuckinglax." He mutters. Relax. Yeah sure. Just let me put on my RELAXING hat and just get COMFY. I don't want to be in this room anymore. I want to be away from everyone. Everything. I draw in a shaky breath.   
"I'm ssssssorry." I whisper. Just act like you don't care. I'm just a thing, anyways. I don't matter. Might as well be a toy. A doll, since that's what you all call me. I'm doll. Negan huffs.   
"You fucking afraid I'm mad or some shit?" He asks. Mad. Good assumption. He's smart. My head nods, and I bury my face in a small section of the blanket. I usually take up the smallest amount of space that I can. Especially when sharing it. I gave him most of the blanket the first night, and had James bring me my own the second. I still only use a small portion of it. Usually when I'm alone I hog the whole thing. But I just can't when I'm sharing. "Just fucking relax. Get some goddamn sleep." He orders.   
"Yes sir." I whisper. Though I doubt I'll actually sleep.   
I want to, but I'm no good. Not at all. I have two extremes when it comes to sleep. That being this: I can go days without sleep, or sleep for twelve consecutive hours. The rest of the time, it's nothing but dozing. It feels like I can never get adequate sleep unless it's sleeping for days on end. It sucks to not truly be able to sleep. Honestly it's kind of awful. But I'm always a deep sleeper. I always have been. Even when I doze. The only thing that usually wakes me is my name, my nightmares, or the sound of the dead. It takes time to wake me up.   
Tonight? Tonight's just going to make things worse for me. I'm catastrophising. It's something people like me do. Something happens and I tend to overthink it. Make it bigger than it truly is. I am exceptional at doing this. So much so that it makes it impossible to sleep sometimes. Such is why I can go days without it. But I'm awesome enough to survive without sleep. Though it turns me into the walking dead sometimes. It's murderous. I can't....sleep tonight. I already know I won't be getting any sleep because of this. So I'm currently just waiting for him to pass out.   
Negan was always good at sleeping, too. But unlike me, he wakes up quickly. Quite quickly. Small noises wake him up, while big ones tend to keep him out. Like trucks, or gunshots. But he's....I don't know. He snores like a chainsaw. Always loud, always long and drawn out. He breathes deeply enough to fill his chest almost completely. He usually sleeps on his back with a hand over his chest or stomach. The other is usually stretched out for something. I'm still unsure why, or what. Sometimes I think Lucille, other times I think he used to have someone and now he's....just looking for them. He DOES surround himself with women.   
He's snoring right now. Didn't take him longer than an hour to fall into a deep sleep. I'm sure if I tried to leave I'd wake him up. But maybe if I went slowly? I just....I can't stay in here all night. I haven't been to the library in awhile. Negan's asleep. I've never woken him before, but the idea of doing it now might just piss him off more. If he knows I'm leaving. But....I need out. I need out of here before I shatter. I've been crying since he told me to sleep. Of course this just makes my chest hurt more.   
Just leave. You can do it.Just get up and go. It's easy. You're good at being quiet. You always have been. You used to scare Mr, Jackson. Even David on occasion. You can get out of this if you truly want to. Believe me when I say, you want to. Negan wants you gone, too. He won't say it, but he does. It's something he's not admitting. I can get out of this bed. Just go to the library and read for a bit. I need time away. I need to get out of this world. Into.....Mel's. Or....Claire's. I love those worlds. Maybe I could go to Pyat's, too. I love that we're alike. So leave.   
I slow start moving. Since Negan isn't touching me, it's considerably easier. But....everything feels loud. Every tiny movement. The beds that we have here vary. The one HE has is soft without springs. But it still manages to creak. The wooden frame doesn't help any. And the blankets are cloth, yet still manage to be loud as fuck. It's quite....annoying. His snores and my breathing are the only things in the room that can mask the sounds I'm making. And I'm moving extremely slowly. Holding my breath every time the bed creaks or the blanket moves. It takes....too long, before I'm even in a sitting position.   
After that it's much harder. Getting myself over his body and off the bed. I have decided that instead of crawling over him, I'm just going to go to the foot of the bed and make my escape there. It seems the smarter choice. It's just that it's a longer journey. Most likely a louder one, too. But the point is to get out without waking him. And without crying. Just get out. I make it to the foot of the bed without so much as making him stir. Once there, I quickly wrap my blanket into a tight ball. .It's thin enough that it hardly makes any noise. Once I do this, it's easy. Or it seems that way.   
I stand, and nearly fall back on my ass. I eat, I do, just...not much. It shows. But I DO have good balance. Good enough that I shouldn't be struggling to stand right now. But I am. It's annoying. I focus on the light shining under his door. It's what some would call a drishti. It's referred to, in yoga or martial arts, as a focus point. When you're balancing, or doing something that requires something like balance, a drishti is a focus point. Something to stare at to regulate thought. Makes it easier to calm ourselves and stay balanced. Weirdly. And somehow, it's always helped. Right now, though, it's just...not. I trip over SOMETHING in the middle of the room and nearly die on the way down. But I don't hardly make any noise at all.   
Negan's snores quiet for a moment. That's when my senses get so much more focused. Completely honed in on him. His breathing, his snores, everything. His breathing is irregular for what feels like eternity before his snores return to their normal volume. My heart's beating out of my fucking chest. Jesus I thought I'd wake him up. Careful, this time, I push myself back up to a standing position. After that it's easy. I VERY SLOWLY grab the handle on the door. It seems colder this time than normal. Turning it seems.....more harrowing than normal as well. But once it's turned all the way to the right, I'm able to open the door and exit the room.   
The change is immediate. It's less stuffy out here. The air is colder, fresher somehow. The air PRESSURE is different somehow, too. It's like....I don't know. Metaphorically speaking, I'm more free, I suppose. But there's air circulation going on out here. Moreso than in Negan's room. The lighting is drastically different, since he sleeps in total darkness. Then again, so do I. I'd assume everyone does. Most everyone. Anyways, the hallway out here it quite different in comparison to the quiet room from which Negan still resides.   
"Library." I whisper to myself, wrapping my small purple blanket around myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super sorry that I've been falling behind, guys! Feel free to kick me in the ass for it when I slack, please! How're you liking it so far? I'm going to speed things up a bit, soon.


	23. Claire

"You." I freeze. I'm not even...in VIEW and I feel like I'm the one being spoken to.   
I've been in here most if not all of the night. Well, at least since I ditched Negan last night. Doesn't feel like it was that long ago, honestly. Feels like I JUST left him in the room. That it's been just long enough for my nerves to calm themselves. My eyes are starting to droop, and that's no small feat. When I got in here, I just....sort of wandered until I COULD read the titles of the books. Then I chose a new one I hadn't read, yet. Did what I always do when I don't want to be found. That's climbed to the top of the shelf in the corner, and laid down. Slept up here the first week I Was in the Sanctuary. It was pretty weird. But now it's just my escape place.   
"You stole my fucking pickles." What? That voice is a man's voice. I hope they won't fight in here. Negan will probably wind up having to punish someone.   
"What? N-no. I- " I flinch when I hear the younger sounding scared guy get hit. Whoever hit him sent him into a bookshelf. Bunch of books are falling to the floor. Fuck.   
I'll clean those up so Claire doesn't have to. She the girl that runs the library here. Didn't want to be Negan's wife, so she works for point. Not a lot of people come here, so she really doesn't get that many points. But I come here enough to give her points for a meal a day. IT's how I feel I give back to the world. I don't know why. It's not like it's life or death for her. I just know that the points I put in for the books I rent or borrow can feed someone for a day. She works here, and she works maintenance for the entire wing on this side. It's a lot of work. She takes requests for books, and give those to Dwight, who then gives them to Negan. She keeps everything organized. I try to help where I can. Reorganizing the books that aren't in the right place, or the books that get knocked down. Like now.   
"Please. I didn't take anything!"  
I don't even want to peak over the edge. I know that the bigger guy will most likely beat him either to death, or half to death. IF it's to death, I hope that he get's bitten so he has to be put down. Funny, before the apocalypse, I never would have had such negative thoughts. But now, I wish people dead all the time. I'd never act on it unless forced to, though. I'm a coward like that. Clutching the book to my chest and squeezing my eyes shut just willing the violence to stop. Doubt I'd ever be a hero. The want is there, just not the courage. I'd be dead in a minute. Or raped, or both.   
There's another crash. A whimper soon follows. It sucks that Negan doesn't seem to care about this stuff. He lets it happen unless he's not in the mood to deal with it. Sometimes it amuses him to watch it happen. If he feels it's justified, he lets it happen. If he's in the mood to watch, he lets it happen. But if he's truly in a good mood, or a really bad one, he'll stop the shit before it gets too bad. I jump almost out of my skin when the smaller sounding one thumps against my shelf. It causes it to rock a little, but not fall.   
"Hey! Get out of my library!" Clare's small comes from not too far away. She's young. Maybe nineteen, maybe seventeen. Blonde, chubby, and has brown eyes. She's really nice, but also really tough. Tough enough to never put up with anyone's shit. No one takes books from her, no one disrespects her without her just about tearing their balls off. She's amazing. Apparently, she doesn't tolerate fighting in her library, either. Genuinely refreshing. "NOW!" She booms at them.   
"This isn't your business, cunt." The bigger sounding man growls. Ooooooh. He's panting, growling, and sounds pissed off. yet there's a hint of almost.....lust? Hunger? In his voice. It's heavy with it. It means he likes what he's doing. Hurting the younger one. The younger one is just....whimpering. Maybe crying, by the sound of it. But ringing through all that, is laughter. Hers, to be exact.   
"Gosh, that was original. What's next, bitch? Slut? Maybe whore? that seems to be a favourite among you pigheaded Dullards. Get the fuck OUT of my library or I will personally see to it your genitals hang on my wall. NOW." She spits. She's young, and it shows in her voice. It's hard to take the words seriously when they're so high in pitch. But somehow she makes then seem serious as shit. Someone else laughs. Probably the big guy.   
"You really want to go, little girl? Think you can fight me off? I'll have you over that desk before you fucking blink." That lights a fire. A big one. A huge one. Nothing makes me more angry than hearing a threat to rape. It's the only thing that's ever gotten me to really react in the past. Hearing it thrown out there like it's NORMAL is just....fucked. And yet, I'm still a coward. I want to jump down and start screaming at him. Take a sword and just fucking end his life.   
"You're new here, so you don't understand what your'e getting yourself in to when you say that. Especially to me. Get out of here." She sounds amused. No one's been able to scare her but Negan. Not that I've seen or heard. IT's amazing. There's a loud thudding sound, and a choked cry of pain. Then it's followed closely by slow footsteps. "Stop." She orders.   
"Or what? You're gonna fuckin beat me to death?" His voice raises half an octave while he mocks her. Quite openly, I might add. He should take that threat and leave. But like she said, he's new. That's...news to me. I didn't know we had anyone new here.   
"If I have to." She challenges. Fuck.  
Get down there. Do something. She might need help. What if he actually tries to rape her? What if he rapes YOU? Huh? You ca't go back to that little pathetic thing. You can't allow that. You're free now. Don't think for a second that they wouldn't take you back. You're a toy. But you can stay hidden and be human. Stay free. But what about her? She shouldn't have to know what it's like. I'd rather go back to being that, if it mean no one else had to do it. But I don't want to go back. I never want to go back. The whip, the flogger....nightmares. The pain. But I'm used to it. She wouldn't be. I need to stop this. I have to try.   
"You're cute." I can't do it.   
Better it be you than her. Fuck. I sit up, being careful of the ceiling that's just a few inches away from my head once I AM up. The guy is big. He's....big. He's probably just over six feet tall, and has enough muscle on him to lift a fucking car. I'd never be able to fight him. He's in a tank top, and has tattoo's all over himself. Including a swastika on his neck, just under his right ear. His arms and shoulders are tattoo'd with a myriad of other things. It's amazing. But volatile. He practically towers over her. In a very big way that shows how much more powerful he is than her. When he steps towards her, she holds her ground. I don't know how she's doing it, honestly. I don't.   
"Get the fuck out of my library." She orders. How the fuck is she fucking standing her ground right now? He's huge. Fuck, I'm just a few feet above him, he'd never be able to reach me, and I'M terrified. He steps even CLOSER to her, and she's STILL standing her ground. DO something you ASSHOLE. Suddenly, a book flies down and hits him in the back of his shaved-to-be-bald head. Oh shit, I did that. Why did I do that? He turns around and looks up at me. Glares up at me. Straightens out, and turns his entire body towards me. Fuckity fuck.   
"The FUCK?" He spits. He looks murderous. Bloody and fucking murderous. "You little cunt. Get your ass the fuck down here." I draw my legs up whne he grabs for them, grabbing them and clutching them to my chest. I need to get away. I can't get hurt. I can't do it again. No. I shouldn't have ever left Negan last night. It was stupid of me.   
"That's Negan's fucking bodyguard, dipshit. You touch her, you're as good as dead. Right Doll!?" I look over the edge of the shelf down at them. She looks much more confident now. Her arms are crossed, too. Over her chest, which is puffed out. The guy looks....put off. Like h can't make up his mind. This is fucked. I'm fucked. HE's going to do what Ivan did. He'll beat me. Rape me. I can't do it. I can't go through that again. "Right?" She asks me. I just nod. Answer the right way.   
"Y-yes. I....I'm....yes." I answer quietly. Surprised I can talk. This is awful. He could do whatever he wanted. He could do anything.   
"She could kill six ways from Sunday. She could do whatever she wanted to you and you wouldn't even be able to blink before you hit the ground. Hey Doll, who's in the wrong here? Me or him?" Claire asks me. Oh now you're putting me on the spot? WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT? Why the fuck? Answer her before you get into trouble. Right now. ANSWER HER. I swallow hard.   
"Hhhhhe- he is.Vvvvvi-violence gets....set-settled.....Dwight-d-dwight hhhhhan- "   
"Dwight handles domestic issues. He's basically Negan's bitch. You can't miss him. Blonde, a pussy, oh and half his face is melted. You should take your shit and deal with it. Just not in my god damn library." He just seems confused and bored now. Still glaring between me and Claire. It's like he can't decide whether or not to be angry. Or WHO to be angry at. I don't blame him. Personally, I'm confused. But at the same time, it's obvious that he won't do anything. He just seems a little defeated. He should be. Honestly. He's in the wrong. "GET OUT!" I jump back against the wall. Jesus fuck. She's so loud. And angry. Why's she so angry? "Doll, he's gone. Can you help me with this guy?" Help you? I look over the shelf thing down at her. She's not lying. The man's gone now. That's a good thing. That's a great thing. Safety. Help her.   
"Y-yeah." Just get down there and help her. She is asking for help so help her. Stupid. I jump down just next to the bloody mess that the other man left.  
He's much smaller. Considerably younger, too. His eye is swollen shut, his mouth is bleeding. This...he's really hurt. Keeps his right hand cradled to his chest while the other is over his head. He's just trying to protect himself. Shit, he's scared. Probably terrified. That shit about Dwight was sort of true, but not really. He deals with everything Negan doesn't feel like handling. This guy is terrified. He probably didn't even know what was going on when that guy came at him. He'll need the infirmary. Hopefully Negan won't have him fucked up even worse if he doesn't have the points for the medicine.   
"Hey. Can you walk?" Claire asks him. Her voice is now back to it's intended age. Her eyes, which are brown, are still hard. But she doesn't seem so mad anymore. If anything, she almost looks scared.  
Claire is a girl that came here about a year ago. She ran in with Negan's guys. Killed one that tried to go at her with his dick. Negan let her off because he's very anti rape. And she was a kid. Then he insulted her by saying she was a bit on the chubby side. 'Damn, we're strapped for pussy, but she's a bit on the chubby side for rape watch'. Sure she has a few pounds on her, but she's not fat. She's not skin and bones, so what? She still has killer blonde hair that goes down to her shoulders in waves. It has highlights. She wears good clothes. She's nice. And she's smart. Tough. She can handle herself. She deserves a lot better than that crap they said about her.   
"Doll, can you help me carry him to the infirmary? Thanks for having my back with that guy." Carry him. He's like five six and a stick. I can most definitely lift him. Which is what I do. His weight isn't bad in my arms. Not a bit. "Wow. I...heard the stories, but...you ARE strong. Isn't he heavy?" She asks. I shake my head. HE's not even close to heavy. NEGAN was heavy. He was hard to carry the mile it took to get him to that damn store. But this guy? Just to the infirmary? Not so much. Fuck. Now I'm making myself sound like a prick. This is Ridiculous. I'm stupid for thinking like this. "I'm sorry about this. I hate troubling any of Negan's imports." Imports?   
"i-im-imports?" I ask. She nods.   
"Important people. Dwight, you, Simon. The people he keeps close to him? I'm sorry." Important people? I'm not important. I lay in a bed all day. Or cry. ME and Negan joke around, but I'm not important.   
"Uhm.....i-it's......" I smile at her, since she's just about my height. "Okay. N-n-nnnnnot an-ny troub-ble." It's not. I actually finally feel useful. Despite my stupid rib.   
"So.....am I going to get in trouble for this?" Trouble? She's....not in trouble. Negan won't get mad for this shit.   
"No. Y-you aren't." I hope. Negan shouldn't get mad at her. It wouldn't be her fault. IF anything, she saved someone today. Fuck....what if he's mad at me? What time is it? Stop thinking about it. she needs help, not you. "You okay?" I ask her. He's bleeding sort of everywhere. Not like....an artery burst or anything, but he's bleeding from the gash over his eye and apparently there's another one somewhere else. Maybe he lost a tooth or something.   
"Me?" She asks. By now we're nearing the dining hall. I can hear people in there already. So it's eightish? That's around when breakfast is served. But there IS an earlybird breakfast at six, too. So it could be either. Normally six o'clock is fairly empty, though. So that's....a thing. It's most likely eight. "Yeah, I'm okay. We have plenty of crazies around here picking fights. Normally all I have to do is clean up a mess or break some couples up. Not my first time breaking up a fight. I haven't said a lot to you since you got here. I'm sorry for that. I figured you were one of his wives or something. But you ain't, are you?" We're a little ways from the infirmary now. The guy is starting to get a little heavy for me. That's only because of my stupid side. HE's honestly not that heavy.   
"No. J-just a guard." i answer. Why would I just be his wife? I like him, but I won't mrry him. I won't be that person again. I've made that decision for myself. Especially in the last couple days. And since I was shot.   
"Oh. that's cool. So......you're sure I won't get in trouble for this? I didn't mean to cause trouble. Honestly. And I'm not good at talking to him, you know?" Yeah, Negan's hard to talk to. Especially when he turns all of his Negan-ness on you. And he's got the best pokerface I've ever seen.   
"Hhhhhe........" I would hope he wouldn't get mad at her. She just defended a kid, saved his life, and saved Negan a body to clean up. The kid didn't even do anything. "He shhhhh-shou-shouldn't. ....be mad." We'll just have to find out ourselves. I'll take the fall for it, if nothing else. But the other two won't let her off. They'll want her to vouch or to blame her.


	24. Walk in the Park

"Hey, Doll. What happened? He get into another scrap?" Another? Hmm, that's slightly unexpected. He's just a kid. And a small one at that.   
The doctor here, He's not so bad. He's a tall, pale man that's sort of elderly in nature. He keeps a smile on his face when there are women in his exam rooms, but if you look close enough, anyone can see the morbidity in his eyes. He's a great deal taller than me, which always terrifies me without fail. Too easily a reminder of what's happened. But he....he's good at his job. He's been here since the beginning, I think. I haven't quite gotten the story on him. He seems like someone that's lost a lot. Probably everyone, like the rest of the world but me. He's a good doctor. Really he is, though it's unclear whether or not he was trained before or after everything happened. Either way, he tends to the wounded very well here. Especially the wives. I only wish it weren't so impossible for everyone to get the treatment they need.   
"Some big guy accused him of stealing. Beat him up pretty bad. Think you can take him off our hands?" To put it bluntly, I suppose. But hey, whatever works. Doc looks at the guy in my arms, which are now getting tired, and sighs. I feel bad for never having learned what his name is.   
"Of course. This is an infirmary. Put him here." he jerks his hand towards one of the five beds in the room.  
Since this is the main room, it works as an ER of sorts. I've never been to a real one before. Avoided hospitals at all costs my whole life. There are four other rooms. Three exam rooms, one surgical. It's pretty impressive if you think about it. How equipped they really are for such a situation as to what we're in. We haven't had to do anything other than amputations here. I mean him when I say we.   
"Looks like he might have a fractured eye socket." He mumbles to himself quietly. I set the injured man down on the bed as he speaks. He's groaning, sort of. But...he isn't that aware of anything right now. Probably has a concussion, he's pretty out of it.. A really bad concussion, at that. Doc begins to examine him as soon as we let him go. We both work to straighten his legs out, though.   
There's dried blood on his shirt. Which is plain and white. Most people here don't get to have a sense of style. Mostly it's Negan, Negan's closest men, and me. But I try really hard to just take long sleeves and pants. Can't wear jeans, though. I'm allergic to denim or something. But his clothes are kind of plain. A lot of the guys here wear flatly colured shirts. Some wear plaid if they can. Some of the smaller guys like them. Or the ones that liked their old lives. Just not a LOT of guys here like them. They look...weird or something. And there's no problems with the fact that I don't like jeans. More for everyone else.   
"How've you been, Claire? Haven't seen you in here in awhile." Doc asks while shining a light in the guy's eyes. Well....he holds one open while the left one is swollen shut. The man won't be getting that back for a few days at least. It'll be black for....a week? Maybe two? Probably two, actually. Mine would last two at least every time I'd get them. Then there's the gash over his eye. It's pretty bad. Probably need stitches. My curiosity is what's up with his blood stains. They've been there awhile. The blood isn't green or yellow tinted, so it isn't the dead's blood. Could be his own. Wouldn't be that surprising if Negan's guys were roughing him up.   
"Good. Feeling a lot......better. Look, can I go? Or....will I be coming back?" She sounds tougher again, but she still has that hint of being a little afraid. Maybe I'm hearing it wrong.   
"You may be questioned about this later, since this happened in your library and you were present. You shouldn't be in any trouble, since that's what you're really asking here. You can go now, if you want." Both of us? Because I really want to see Brownie, and grab some food. Also, help with the cleanup of the books.   
"Thanks. Have a good day, Doc." Her footsteps are quiet when she walks out. Can't really tell what kind of emotion or vibe she's putting off. Seems calm, but her eyes showed fear, yet she exudes confidence. I respect that. Doc sort of his eyes as she exits. Maybe with caution, maybe with concern. Either would fit. But his concentration mostly stays focused on the guy in the bed.   
"You can go, too. You were shot, you should be in bed." Straight to the point, like usual. He doesn't look at me when he speaks this time. Something I'm grateful for. I simply nod at him and leave.  
Negan will be asking the questions here. Or Dwight. Though he sort of freaks me out, it shouldn't be hard to talk to him. Honestly right now I'm not sure if I want it to be Negan. He's terrifying, and he's probably pissed that I left last night. I freaked out. I'm.....a slut. He probably doesn't even want to see me. He's seen the scars, and he's seen me cry, seen me weak. Saw James flirting with me, or maybe I was flirting with James unintentionally? Negan's possessive for good reason. He's mad at me, thinks bad of me. Does he think I'm broken and dirty? Like the rest of them? Maybe I am. I swore I wouldn't be again, though. This is my fault.   
The people around me keep looking at me.The bigger guys that Negan recruits into his team of Negans know exactly who I am and what I do. They're tough guys. Usually big guys. Negan hand picks those ones, obviously. All of them have accents that took me awhile to understand. But then there are the slightly smaller ones. The women, and the kids, and smaller men of the Sanctuary. They work for points. Generally they're a lot more calm and kind, or just quieter. Don't like the killing, or they're afraid of the dead. Some don't have the skills to fight them off. Me and James, a few others as well, are trying to train them. But that's slow going.   
"Doll. You're up?" Dwight.   
He already looks worried and annoyed. I hate being a jerk, but that's simply what happens. He always look like this. And I hate this about myself, but the fact that Negan melted half his face makes him look a lot more intimidating. I always felt bad about that. HE's never been anything but nice to me. But I DO remember what he did. Some guy was here not that long ago. Dwight was told to break him. Dwight gets to 'break' a lot of people. Hearing that word was terrifying. There's good reason for me to be afraid of him. Right now he's looking at me like he's confused, with a gun in his hand. The other is curled into a loose fist at his other side. Why are his eyes always so wide?   
"Look good for someone that's been shot. Healin?" My back winds up against a wall, my eyes get glued to his chest instead of his face. Easier to not be afraid of him. Part of what I was taught to do. Never make eye contact, it's a sign of disrespect. Of a challenge.  
"Mhm. Y-yeah." Honestly it feels like I should be in bed. I'm tired and my side really hurts. But bed means Negan, and Negan could mean more pain.   
"That's good. It's good to see you back on your feet again. Where ya headed?" Good question. I wanted to help Claire in the library.   
"L-lib-libr-rary." Almost across the sanctuary. It feels like there's too much distance between us and the library. It's a shorter distance to get to the bed. Kind of feels like a better idea. Only I know it's not.   
"Let me walk ya there. Why's there blood on ya? Get into a fight?" He asks. We begin to walk through the halls back towards the library at that. I'm sort of happy that the library isn't that far from my room, or Negan's, since I guess I'm still staying there. Though I'm not entirely sure if that's correct. He may change his mind after last night. Probably.   
"No." I answer. Negan's had to tell me repeatedly to speak up because I'm just that quiet. It's honest to god annoying as fuck. Apparently my answer is somehow funny to him, since he laughs.   
"Don't know if any answer would surprise me with you. Me, everyone knows with me. Always gonna be a fight. How'd you get that blood on ya, then?" I look down at my shirt. It's been darkened in a few places with the small man's blood. Not too much, but it's enough to be weird.   
"Ca-cari-ried sssssssome-one t-to the infirmary." Yeah, that just came out as infirmary. There's something wrong with me. I wish I could just TALK like normal people.   
"Hmm. Gonna have to deal with that later on, I suppose. Don't see why ya didn't just out em on the wall."  
The wall is the fence that goes around the Sanctuary. Sort of for protection, sort of for intimidation. They chain up the dead out there. Some of them are impaled on spikes, others are pined to the fence itself. I have no reservations against it, to be blunt. It's quite functional and very practical. But letting someone die just because it would be less hassle is stupid as fuck. But it's not like I'LL be saying that. I don't get to speak up against or for that stuff. I'm just a bodyguard. The only thing with the wall is that it really wreaks. Granted, everything has a bad smell in recent years, but it would be nice if fresh air was really fresh. IT's only truly fresh when it's raining and super windy. Which should be happening soon. That'll probably cause problems with the fence.   
"You don't really talk much, do you?" He's teasing. He sounds like he's teasing. Playfully, maybe, but still teasing. At least we're getting closer to the library. Hopefully Claire's still okay. "People around here......" He pauses for effect. "They talk about you. I don't know. I know Negan's not stupid enough to put his life on the line for a piece of ass. You must be good. I've seen ya, I know you're good. Me, I know I'm good. Could hack it out there if I really wanted to." No offense, but you talk too much, Dwight. Probably out of nerves or confidence. It could go either way, especially with him. I personally can't relax. Not even when we're in the library. "You know I could always take care o myelf out there." He's talking way too much.   
"Oh....you're back. Dwight, hey." Yeah he gets that reaction from the women around here. They don't usually like him. She most definitely doesn't. He's smug. Around here when Negan isn't around, anyways.   
"Claire. Pretty as always. How's the library treatin ya?" I try to give her a reassuring smile. She's nervous around him. She's also afraid of getting punished for the mess, or interfering with other people's business. Saving someone that is potentially wasting the medical supplies. She could get stuck paying for the whole thing. Which, if I have anything to do with it, then she won't.   
"Fine. Slow. Are you looking for a book?" She looks at me for a moment before going back to him. Technically I can leave. But I won't leave anyone alone with Dwight. He's just a little too sketchy for me   
"No. I'd love to stay and read your books, but I've got a busy day. Makin it easier for you to keep your pretty little job in this pretty little library of yours. Don't go havin too much fun now." He flirts with almost every woman. I get it, it's the apocalypse, we need to repopulate, but that's not a good excuse to make everyone uncomfortable. It's honestly extremely rude. Did he do this BEFORE the dead were reanimated.   
"Wouldn't think of it." Claire deadpans. She's...annoyed. Even the expression on her face reads pure annoyance. There's fear, that's everpresent in these people, but mostly it's annoyance right now. And genuine disapproval of how she's being treated. At least he's gone.   
"D-do you need hhhhhhhhhe-help with the b-books?" I ask, nodding my head towards where the books were knocked off their shelves. It's not visible from here, since this is a good size for a library, but she knows what I'm talking about.   
"Uhm......you really don't have to do that. Are you just keeping an eye on me or something? I thought I didn't do anything wrong." Now she's back to pure defense. And again, fear. But I'm way ahead of that. i shake my head furiously, hoping to just get SOME words out. Eventually my mouth cooperates.   
"Nnnnn-nnnnn-n-no. You-you a-a-a-arennnnn't in any t-trouble. I-I jussssssssssssssssssssssssssst want to hhhhhelp." I answer. She looks me up and down, regarding me cautiously, before nodding.   
"OKay. Your choice, I guess. Whatever."


	25. Chapter 25

"She's really growing up." She looks bigger in here than she does when we're in Negan's room. Maybe that's just the effect Negan gives off. Still, she looks bigger. Granted, it's been a week since we got her from Alexandria, but still. It's not that much time.   
"Dogs have been known to do that." James jokes. Ugh, you and your dumb jokes. They're actually pretty nice.   
He asked me out yesterday, and now I feel weird. But I...technically said no. And he said That's fine. But that doesn't mean I'm not still scared that he'll be mad. I'm not supposed to say no. I was pretty freaked out when I said no to Negan without consequence. I'm not sure how James will react. Will he be angry, or....hurt me? Rape me? I'm honestly terrified of him right now. Even if we've been hanging out with each other for an hour now. I flinch every time he speaks or moves because I expect him to attack.   
"I'll walk her later, after dinner. Make sure she goes, since she seemed so against it this morning. Little asshole." That's unfortunate for her. Probably painful.   
"Thank you." She's licking my hand now. It's....cute. I love her. She's the best dog. Honestly I love her more than I've loved anything in a long time. I've had a pet before, but.....that was with Jackson, and Ivan killed him as soon as he got me. Broke his neck in front of me. So putting Brownie in anyone else's hands is more than terrifying. James could hurt her at any time if he really wanted to. Oh shit, I rejected him. He could kill her for revenge. "A-ac-actual-ly...." Don't let him know you're scared. He can use that against me if he really wants to. That's a very big advantage on anyone's part if they're going against me in any way. I'm never going to fight back. Not unless I'm fighting for someone else, or I'm in a blind rage. That only happens when someone tries to rape me. It's happened a couple times to me since the apocalypse started. "I-I can- I can take-take hhhhhhhher." Sure. I've gone against Negan already today. ....sort of. He hasn't come bursting in looking for me, yet, so I might not have to worry too much. Not yet, anyways. I'm not that important, so I might not be on the top pf the Negan's List of Things to do. But who knows, right?   
"What? You're still injured. I'll take care of her until you're okay to walk her without an oxygen mask." What? What's an oxygen mask? Why would I need one?   
"B-but....I c-can-can do it nnnn-n-now. Shhhhhhhhhe's m-my resssssssspon-ponss-sib-b-bility. I-I should do it." He smiles at me, actually flashing his teeth as he does so. He's always had a nice smile. One that can make everything seem sort of okay. I've never seen him look menacing in a truly frightening way. But those are the people that can really hurt you. Because you never expect them to be as brutal as they really are.   
"You can do it when you can fight with her. She's one that pulls on the leash. Doesn't mind tugging me all around the gardens outside." Great. She's licking my neck right now like a total dweeb. It's fantastic. I love that she's so vibrant and cuddly all the time. Always so upbeat. It's good. It's distracting, anyways. But what if he's angry with me? For not wanting to go out with him? "I got her. It's okay. Honestly. I like taking her out. Gets me some fresh air. And she's adorable." She is. She really is. "Like you." He smiles at me again, but he's just making me feel more afraid. I'm....adorable? Is he just mad at me? Waiting for me to trip up and insult him? Because I don't know what I'm doing with him. I just know that I'm scared. "You might need to go back and lay down the rest of the day." What? Why do you keep shifting so much? I can't keep track of this anymore. It's too much. It's too confusing. I'm...I can't do this. He's too....he's too everywhere. "You're staring, Evs." Is he going to hurt me? I quickly avert my eyes from him before he has the chance to be angry with me. "Evs...." He sighs and I cringe. "You flinch all the time, and you stutter. I've seen yours wrists- "   
My breathing hitches at the mention of him seeing them. No one should see them. People that see them hate me. I'm flawed. I only did it to stop the pain. James is my best friend. He's he only friend I have aside from Negan. If he hates me, I'll be alone. He might hurt me. He wants my body, anyways. Not me. He doesn't want me. I'm the worst thing ever. He's seen me and my scars. He asked me out, he let me say no. But he probably doesn't like being rejected. And he's being nice, but it probably won't last. He hates me. I'm...I'm just a flaw.   
"I don't like seeing good people hurting, and I like knowing things. I like knowing what's going on. Especially with people. And you're special to me." Special. Last time I was called special, Ivan was holding my chin and looking at me like someone looks at their pet. One they hate. "You always flinch, Evs. What happened to you?" What....what happened to me? I can't tell him that. The way people look at me when they find out, or when they see me, I know it's pity. And disgust. I'm not a person anymore when people know what happened to me. I hate everything about how people see me when they know what I am. Or decide. Sometimes they just decide what I am and I don't have to do anything. "I care about your safety, Evelyn. Are you safe?" No one's safe in the new world. No one has ever been safe in this world. No one ever will be, either. It's just not a safe place.   
"Ssssafe....en-enough. Yes. Wwwwwwhy?" Because he 'cares' about you. Does he care like Ivan did? Because all Ivan cared about was hurting me and teaching me that I should not trust him under any circumstance. The words 'I care about you' are not good words. I make a weird ass noise suddenly, and a flinchy motion, too. Simply because I expect what would normally follow those words. Which is....probably dumb. But that's what used to always happen.   
"You're not acting like you're safe. I want you to be able to tell me what's going on, or what happened. I won't...judge you for it. If that's what you're afraid of. I wouldn't do that." He continues. Yes you will. Everyone does. Everyone judges me, it's what I'm here for. I'm not entirely sure what I SHOULD be doing right now. He's trying to catch my eye now. It won't work. I'm frozen in confusion. And fear, sort of. He doesn't know what he'll think of me. Negan already thinks differently about me. Probably that I'm weak. And since he thought I was sleeping with James, he thinks I'm a whore now. Might as well be a whore. I used to be. Why not now, too? "I've overstepped. I'm sorry." Why does he keep saying that? "Do you need help getting back to Negan's room? I shouldn't have kept you so long. He'll probably have your head, right?" He's back to joking around. Good. This is the James I know. this is the James I'm used to. It's a relief to have him back. But I still feel like I've done something wrong. Maybe I should have told him, or maybe I should have said yes to him instead of no. I don't know how to be normal. I don't deserve it. "Evs." I flinch, causing Brownie to jolt upright from my lap. She'd finally just settled down, too.   
"Hmm? O-oh.....no." I smile the best I can and shake my head. Brownie is calming down again. But only enough for her to stand up in my lap and put her head on my shoulder. "D-do you....I hhhhhate to asssssk....." He helps me stand up by pulling me up by my hands. Well, my right hand since I'm now holding Brownie like she's a baby. Gotta say, her breathing and sniffing at my ear is kind of unsettling.   
"I'll keep taking care of her. Do't worry about that, Evs. She's in good hands with me." He answers with that weirdly soft tone he takes with me sometimes. I just set Brownie down on the bed and carefully lean down to kiss her. It'll be awhile until I can do this without pain.   
"Thank-thank you." Now to face the music. See how much trouble I'm in for last night. "It's okay." Self soothing never really worked It's been....I think it's probably mid-afternoon by now. So it's been a good few hours since he's woken up.  
That's a lot of time for the anger to fester. He's a violent man. He's always been a violent man to those he dislikes. Anyone that he feels has wronged him or betrayed him or broken the rules. If I go back there now, and he feels like I've done any of those things, he could hurt me. Put the iron to my face like he did with Dwight. Fuck, he screamed so loud when that iron got pressed to his face. It took him so long to recover from that. I already have disgusting scars. But....maybe I'd deserve it this time. Maybe I always deserve it.   
"It's okay." I raise my fist and knock on the door. I don't care what he said about me not having to knock, I will always knock. It's just polite. The sound is quiet, though. Maybe too quiet to be heard.   
"Come in!" Fuck. NOT too quiet to be heard. I was...almost hoping. There's an ideal scenario here, where I just run away. Or where I never left in the first place last night. Oh shit.....the thing in the library. He either already knows, or he'll want to know. How do I explain what happened? Just...hey, Negan, about me leaving earlier, so I got in a fight...."Ah, THERE the fuck you fucking are. Where the FUCK have you been? I've been looking everyfuckingwhere for you." He's...playful. That's his playful tone. Which means I'm either in a VERY large amount of trouble, or he doesn't care. You're definitely in a lot of trouble. I cringe back into the door once I have it closed all the way. This is bad. It's going to be bad. You should apologize. When I try that, my entire body just sort of freezes. Mouth still open. now I just feel like I'm being struck by lightning in a NOT good way. "I heard from the doc, you got into some fucking SHIT this morning. You fucking hurt?" Hurt? Aside from the pain of being a disappointment? Not really My body goes numb in these situations. Since my mouth still doesn't want to work, I just shake my head. "Good. Why the fuck are you still up? Get back in fucking bed where you fucking should be. I'm taking a wild fucking guess and saying you were with that damn dog?" Bed. Get in bed. Do what he says. NOW. I quickly move from my near frozen place at the door and go to the bed. Everything of mine is still in here, so all I have to do is get in the bed. I'm tired from everything anyways. Aside from the part where I'm wired because I'm terrified of being in trouble. HATE dissapointing him. "You forget how to fucking talk, Evelyn?" NOW he sounds unhappy. He's lost his playful edge. Not a good sign for me. SPEAK.   
"Ssssssss- " I give up and sit on the edge of the bed. Answer the questions. Stop being a freak. His eyes....I don't have to see them to know they're on me. It doesn't help. Stop thinking too much, and do something. "Sssssor-sor-" Breathe. Speak. "Sorry N-Negan. Y-yes I was....I-I wassssssswith B-br-brownnn-nie." Relax. You need to relax. It's okay. Relax. He doesn't need to know I was with James, too, though. The last thing anyone needs is angry Negan. Especially James. He's only being helpful.   
"That's what I fucking thought. That's where you've been all fucking day?" He asks. To which I shake my head.   
"L-lib-library thhhhhhhisssssss m-morning." For most of the morning, actually. I only left when my side started killing me for laying on such a hard surface for so long.   
"Yeah I fucking know about that. Wanna fucking tell me what the fuck happened? Why you fucking threw a fucking book at someone?" I DID do that, didn't I? It sounds so juvenile when he says it.   
"Uh......hhhhhhhhe...." Report. Report. Breathe, and then speak. "Hhhhe was.....be-beating on sssssssomeon-one e-else. A-and..."   
"He didn't fucking threaten you?" Actually I think he did. IT's still sort of blurry. I don't like thinking about it.   
"He thhhhreat-threatened hhhher." I still hate that he threatened to rape Claire. People like that shouldn't have a place in the Sanctuary.   
"So what? Claire can take care of her fucking self and you fucking know it." I cringe into myself more at his tone.   
"Hhhhhe threatened to RAPE her, Negan." Almost no stutter! The thought of him doing that to her.....she shouldn't have to go through that. No one should. He was big, too, and strong. He'd probably have hurt her. Not like Ivan, though. He could never be matched in brutality. No, it'd be like David. Cruel, fast, and awful.   
"I'll fucking deal with him." He'll never fail of make me flinch with that tone. It's like a whip, sometimes. "Stupid fuckin kid shot up my fuckin men today I don't need to deal with anymore shit from Alexandria." Wait what?   
"What? Whhhhho-who- " He gives me a look that usually means 'shut up', to which I flinch and look down at my lap. I shouldn't be asking questions. If he wants to tell me, he can. It's up to him. I shouldn't pry.  
But someone got SHOT? By someone from Alexandria? How did they even find us? Did he say KID? Did the kid get shot? Did A kid get shot? By someone from Alexandria? But we barely HAVE any kids here. What would they be doing in Alexandria? Or...was someone from Alexandria HERE? Which would be stupid because why would we EVER bring them here? I can see bringing Daryl, because he's nice, but he could handle himself. Anyone else is just too.....they couldn't be here. They wouldn't understand how things work here. My head hurts. Just go to sleep.   
It hurts to lay down. Somehow in the last......twelve hours? Sixteen? Depends on how long I've actually been gone, since I left in the middle of the night last night. Or....the beginning. So almost twenty four, now, then, right? I shake the thoughts off and put my forehead to the wall as per usual. Doesn't matter, I'm tired anyways. At least the wall is cold. Feels good against this headache. Shit, I'm getting a headache just from thinking now? How awful am i? Doesn't matter. Just sleep. You're tired, you need it, it'll help. It always does.   
"I-I'm ssssssor-sor-sorry Ne- Sir." That needs to be said. I disobeyed him last night. Spent all day outside his rules. He's probably disappointing. Maybe he should be.   
To put how I feel, physically, about my fuck up today, think about downing your very first shot of Rum or Vodka. The way it burns at your chest and stomach. Forget the throat burn, but the others are legit. That's how it feels when I do something that would make the average person cringe. It physically hurts that I'm a disappointment to anyone. Negan's kind of....everything to em right now. He's putting the world back together and I got mad because he said domething mean? He's a leader. I should be better.   
"I don't need to fucking deal with my fucking body guard going fucking rogue when my fucking men are getting fuucking shot by a god damn motherfucking one eyed kid. Who are you?" This question. I didn't understand it for the longest time. The answer is I'm Negan. Everyone is supposed to fall in lie behind him. I only ever had to say it Once since I've been here. When he asked the first time, he was so....arrogant about it. But now he just sounds bored and tired.   
"I'm Negan. Sir." I answer quietly. I'm really sorry.Fuck I messed up.   
There's a squeaking noise coming from his chair. Always without fail squeaks when he gets up and sits down. Every time. The first thing that's popping into my head is Ivan. The back of my neck itches where he bit me. But I know he isn't here. Negan wouldn't do that. I shouldn't b afraid of him hurting me like that. He'd be direct about it. I'm safe right here. He'd tell me if I were in trouble. He would.I'm safe here. He'll let me know if I'm not.   
"Good.Now get some fucking sleep. Understand?" He really sounds tired.   
He only ever rally sounds this tired when he's lost someone. It doesn't happen a lot here. It affects him less if it's people from other outposts, but it still affects him. The worst I ever saw it was when we lost the satellite outpost. So many people. He got so drunk when he found out.....I didn't see him a full day after. His tone is always like this when it's someone here.He's....he's tired. He has good reason to be, but it's still not good. He shouldn't have to deal with me being insubordinate.   
"Yes sir."


	26. Small Talk With Dwight

A MONTH LATER  
"Calm down, B. Please." She won't stop barking. It's not fair.  
I just wanted to walk her out here while everyone was asleep. Stupid move, I know, but it's snowing finally. I mean, it's September now, I think. It's a little early for snow, but I'm excited. Definitely ready for it to be snowing. It's nice and cold, and B hasn't ever seen it before. I thought she'd be in awe of it like I was the first time I saw it. But no. She stopped for a moment, but then just went crazy and started barking and jumping all over the place. Which.....is loud. Very very loud. And she keeps trying to eat the snow like it's attacking her. Even when i clearly is not, in fact, hurting her.  
"Come on, calm down. Please calm down? It's cold." Like talking sense into her will help.  
Can she even understand me? I don't know what dogs understand. Is it the tone? Does she only listen to angry voices? Instead of calm ones? I couldn't ell at her. Not like Negan does. He's......I'm not sure why he hates her so much, but she always listens to him. Without fail. He never says anything nice to her, though he IS much more tolerant now. She listens when he yells. When Dwight talks to her, too, but he never really yells. Just uses a dominant tone. James, too. If that's really he case, then she'll never listen to me. I can't yell. I couldn't yell like hem. Or really even talk like them. I never could. I was taught and conditioned to use soft tones. Stay small and young and submissive. I've not the confidence to speak like them.  
"Owowowowow." She howls. Yup. There we go. She just....keeps going. Like the snow is her enemy.  
Me personally, I love it. I used to watch it outside my window, when I had a window I could look out of. Ivan never let me so much as see the sun when I was with him. But Jackson and David did. David was the first person to let me see the outside world. I mean I saw it when I was a baby, and a toddler before I was sold, but I never saw snow until I was with David. I love snow, but rain is the best. Nothing quite tops the rain on my skin. Down here, though, it's too hot all the time. Gets cold, sure, but when it rains, it's....sticky. It's like the sky is raining sweat. I want to go back to where it was like fresh water. I miss that. Too hot down here all the time. Except now, when it's freezing cold and I just want to go to sleep.  
"What are you doin out here so late, Doll?" I scream, going to run from the voice. At first, my fear tells me it's someone here to punish me for being out so late. But my stupid feet slip on the snow that I'm never going to get used to, and I fall on my ass. Kind of hard, too. My rib has healed, so that barely causes any pain. No, it's how hard my ass hits the cold, very solid ground, that hurts.  
AFTER the shit storm that is me, the voice registers as Dwight. Cherry left a week ago, or....maybe it was two weeks ago? I just know that she left, and someone killed Fat Joey. Dwight hasn't really seemed the same since. Not that we talk or anything, but he's definitely not the same jokative asshat that kinda creeps everyone out. He's quieter now, actually. Like he's trying to think more, but can't quite figure whatever it is he's trying to figure out, out. He's angry, sad, and hates the world. She was a nice lady, actually. I really liked her. She was one of the wives that never.......when Carl was here, she wasn't horrible to him. She's smart, so she can make it out there. She better be able to. Even though D said she died, I think she's alive.  
"S-sorry-sorry D." HE looks more scared than me right now.  
I doubt anyone in this place has ever heard me be that loud before. Including Dwight. It doesn't take more than another second to pass before Brownie reacts. She begins to bark at him while standing with one of her paws on my right leg. She can be loud when she wants to, that's for fucking sure. Her barking gets him to snap out of whatever shock my scream put him in. His eyes return to their normal size, and he steps closer to offer his hand. Don't take it. He could hurt you. That's what m fear always says. Sometimes Ivan would act like he was helping me, then he'd just hurt me again. But it's Dwight. He'd.......he's smarter than that, right? Unless Negan sent him to come get me and put me in the box.  
"Sorry, Doll. Bit jumpy?" ? I swallow hard, but force myself to take his hand. Boney fingers. You have boney fingers, D. Please don't put me in the box. I don't want to go in the box. I'll be good.  
"I-I-I-" I look down at Brownie, quickly picking up the leash that fell from my hands when I fell. "I was-I was j-jussssst walking her. I-I didn't mean to wwwwwwke anyone u-up. I-it's just....shhhhhewas scratching at the d-door and.....shhhhehc ould hhhhh-have woken N-nn-nnnnneg-negan." Please don't be mad at me. I didn't mean to sneak out. NEgan was.....not happy last time. H doesn't ask that question of people a lot. Unless he's making an example to either them, someone else, or welcoming someone into the Saviors. Like Eugene. Weird one, he is. Maybe Negan thinks I'm turning against him?  
"Okay. I was just out for a smoke. Found another pack the other day. Should quit, but I don't wanna. She's gettin bigger." He kneels down by Brownie and pats her head. Something Negan just...doesn't do. She eats with me at mealtimes now, and we usually eat at least one of those with Negan. He tolerates her, but he doesn't like her. She seems to take to Dwight, though. Unsure at first, cringing away from his hand, but as soon as he pats her head, she's all over him. Licking his hand, letting him pet her...it's cute, really. And he's right, she's getting bigger. Not by much, but it's noticeable. How fast do dogs grow? Ivan had a dog, but it was already grown when I was there, and mean. "You goin with us in a couple days?" To Alexandria to look for someone. Negan had one of them here, someone he wouldn't say the name of to me, so I didn't ask. Whoever it was broke out and killed Fat Joey and another guy. Negan was pissed.  
"If he wants me to." Translation: If I have to. But I want to protect NEgan. He's big and strong, or whatever, but I've seen him get attacked by people before. I'll always remember that's how we met. He's been hurt before. He's not invincible, though he's got everyone believing he is. Dwight smiles. His smiles always seemed off, but after he got the Iron to his face, it's only made it worse. He's......he's half melted now, which is terrifying. I hate thinking that about anyone, because he' never been anything but nice to me, but his face creeps me out. I can't help it. Fuck I'm horrible for letting that get to me. I should be better. Stop being pathetic.  
"Gonna get yourself shot again?" That wasn't even my fucking fault. Fuck. Daryl......no, it WAS my fault. i shouldn't have gone anywhere. I should have stayed at the stupid truck. Listened. If I had, I wouldn't have been shot. Just stop being stupid, Evelyn. You should do better. Don't get shot.  
"Bbett-better not." Dammit it's cold. I should have put shoes on. And a shirt. I just slept in my sweatshirt tonight. Not enough layers for how cold it is. Shorts, no pants, and a sweatshirt. It looks like it's all I'm wearing, since it's way too big for me. But I like it like that. Pure black, found it about a week ago. It's all I sleep in now.  
Negan has no problem with that. In fact, he encouraged it. Since I never......I never really moved back into my room. It's Brownie's room now, and I just sleep in Negan's bed. And shower in his shower. Sometimes we kiss....a lot. And usually after, he has to find a wife to screw the brains of. Which honestly kind of makes me feel weird. He's frustrated because he's not patient, but I'm frustrated because he is. I want to....I want to do that, but I don't. I get really scared every time we get close to it. And every time he has to leave so he CAN get off, it makes me feel like trash. I should be able to do this. He shouldn't have to go somewhere else for this.  
"I agree. You're everyone's favourite body guard around here. Gotta weird voice and a pretty face." What does that mean? He's looking at me again. Is he trying to get me to let my guard down so he can hurt me?  
Is he going to kill me? Or beat me or something? What did I do wrong? Is it because I came out here so late? What's wrong with my voice? Is it too loud or am I not doing it right? How could I not TALK right? Granted my voice is supposed to be small to make me small, but I grew out of that, sort of. But is he mad at me for being out? He's talking about my face, too, maybe he'll hurt it. It's TOO pretty, maybe. Which isn't something that's possible for me. I'm attractive, but not THAT attractive. It's ONLY my face that's attractive, maybe he doesn't want me to be attractive. Am I going to get ironed? My face is pretty, so they're gonna fuck it up so I obey? I thought I already did what they wanted? What did I do wrong? Do I get the iron because I'm out late? Brownie really needed to go, though.  
"I-I'm sorry." Don't run. Running is bad. Running just gets you in more trouble. You deserve it if they hurt you. Being so disobedient. You should know better. Dwight looks confused now.  
"Why are you sorry? Cause ya gotta weird voice? Don't bother us none. Where you from?" Just answer the questions honestly. They know when you lie. Everyone knows when you lie.  
"N-new-new Y-york?" Sort of. That's where I was before here. I was there, but before that I don't know. North Dakota with David. I don't know where I Was born or where Jackson kept me. I think it was also New York. Maybe somewhere else? It was a city. But I always consider New York where I'm from. I got that sort of accent since I was sort of there the longest. IT took awhile to get out of the city once the shit hit the fan.  
"New York. No wonder ya sound so damn off. How'd you get all the way down here?" Down here? OH yeah, we're in the south. Like.....Virginia or Georgia right? I'll have to look at a map or ask if I get the chance. I'm still convinced I'm about to be punished for something. something bad.  
"Walking." Lots of walking. It was nice, to be honest, though I still hate open spaces like fields and stuff. Those really wig me out. It took a long time to get here, then. I didn't really keep track, I was too busy being afraid of everything around me. And everyone.  
"Why'd you come here? Family? Boyfriend?" Just answer the question so you don't get hurt. HE's asking because he's one of those people. Right? He's like David. He's playing a game, and if I lose, he'll hurt me. I can't run or he'll hurt me. Hiding wouldn't help, either, but I always want to. So I shake my head while my hands begin to shake. I shouldn't have come out here. I should have known better than to come out here. Bad things happen at night. "Hard to believe. Girl like you, young as ya are, comin down here for no reason?" Is this just Dwight being Dwight? Or did Negan want this? What if Negan wanted this? Is it.....it can't be. That was a month ago. He forgave me, right? Even Ivan never held onto grudges this long. Negan is smart, but he doesn't really let himself stay angry.  
"I-I-" He's stopped petting Brownie now, and is looking at me again.  
His eyes are still expectant. Eyebrows raised slightly, his hair is combed back, like always, but greasy. He's a boney guy, and strong. Skinny, taller than me by a lot because everyone is. But he's shorter than Negan and a lot of others. That doesn't mean he can't handle his job. He was chosen for a reason. He can hit really hard. And I bet his feet, which aren't small, would hurt. They'd hurt a lot if he kicked me with them. And he always wears those boots. Rubber tears at skin, even through clothing, and really had an impact. He'd really hurt if he hit me. But how do I answer?  
"Lost." I just said lost. I WAS lost. That's true. I'm not lying. "I=I wwwwwwwas-was I was lllllllllosssst." Just wandered around until I found Negan. Dwight stands back up again. This just makes his height that much more prominent. And he DOES have muscle. A lot of it. Not like NEgan, not like Ivan, but he has muscle. I flinch back a step at the thought.  
"Makes sense. You lose people?" He just lost Sherry, so that's a great question. But I don't think she's dead. Just not here. I don't know what to think. I shake my head, still clutching the leash probably much too hard. The sanctuary is a safe place from the dead, so I only ever usually walk around with three throwing knives. But now, since I'm only wearing a coat and shorts, I don't have them. They're in my bag, which is still in the place I always put it: At the foot of the bed. Stupid, I know, but there's also a knife under my pillow. Negan thought it was funny, but admirable. Only admirable until you realize how often I cut my hands on it."All alone the whole way?" I was. Saved one person, and that was Negan. The only other person I tried to save, I wound up having to kill because she tried to kill me. It was very confusing.  
"Y-yes." Avoiding people until Negan made it impossible to anymore. But it's good here. I think. I may have to leave if Dwight hurts me. If I CAN get away. He may kill me. Dammit I should have stayed inside this time. I'm stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. He's taller than me. Not by MUCH, but he's taller. He's got the advantage. Gun on his hip like always, and the creepy look on his face. Sort of a smile, but confused, too? I'm not sure. He's going to hurt me though, isn't he? I've never been alone with him before. Never wanted to be.  
"Hard to believe if I hadn't seen ya fight before. Still pretty damn young to be alone without losin anyone. Parents?" I flinch at the thought. I don't remember them except the last time I saw them and one memory I had with my father. I think. It might not have even been them. I just know that there wasn't anyone TO lose. "I know THAT look. Sorry, kid. Well I'm gonna go to bed. Big day tomorrow." Tomorrow? And you're just going to leave? Are you sure? You aren't gonna hit me?  
"T-tomo-tomorrow?" Dwight smiles again.  
"New guy's gonna dump some shit on the dead ones to secure em." Oh Eugene. Negan had his wives do recon on him. They didn't report a lot, but I've heard he's weird. I didn't go on the last few runs to Alexandria. I want to and I don't, but Negan won't let me. And I haven't asked. But Eugene is very......interesting? No one here quite understands him when he speaks.  
"Oh." I wonder what I'll be doing tomorrow, then. Talk to James? Train? Maybe I'll just sleep for awhile. That sounds like a good idea.  
"I'll walk ya back in if ya want?" Wait, Eugene already did that. I jump and nearly scream at a tug on my pant leg. A small tug, but a tug. I don't know what I thought it was, but it turns out to be Brownie. Sound DOES get out, but it's more of a choked coughing gasp, or something of the like. But it's just her, and I'm safe. I think.  
"Uh......" I should. It would be better. Listen to him, right? Before you get in trouble. And he hurts you. Now you're taking too long to answer. He's waiting. Answer him. Sound it having trouble with me tonight. I'm too cold to talk. I get like that. ANSWER HIM. "Sssssssure. Th-thank you." He won't do anything.  
I'm not in trouble, I'm not in trouble. Please don't let me be in trouble. IT's okay. You're safe. You're safe. I'm not. That door, that stupid metal back door that goes straight to a stairwell that leads almost directly to Negan's hallway, that's going to be the last time I see that door. Negan's mad that I left again. But Brownie would have woken him up! She woke ME up. But I'm easy to wake up. Easy to fall asleep, but also easy to wake up. Negan's a rock unless there's a danger to him or something, but he's a pretty good rock when he's asleep. But Brownie, with the noise she was making, was going to wake him up. I'm sorry I left. I shouldn't have left.  
Once the door opens, with a good volume, I might add, it feels like the noise is the loudest thing on the planet. IT'll draw too much attention. Everyone will see my failure and hate me for it. They'll hate me for being the reason they had to wake up in the middle of the night. And it's dark. Anything or anyone could be waiting to hurt us. IT's so dark compared to how bright it was outside, I'm blinded. Blinded enough to stop and find the closest wall to me. It feels like there's a wall in front of my face, honestly. The blackness is also deafening. Every sense seems to be taken over by it.  
"Need a damn light in this hall." Dwight complains. Even HE is being quieter, though.  
The next thing in the room, it seems to break everything apart, is a white light. Flashlight. Dwight has turned on a flashlight. A flashlight shouldn't scare me, but it does. I'm better in the dark. I'm still in trouble, though. Most likely. What if Negan's already gathered everyone in the Iron room? The smelting room, I think is what it's really called, but what if they're waiting for me? Is Negan going to put he iron to my face? or....maybe he'll throw me in the fire like he did with Doc. I'm terrified of fire.  
"Headin back to your room?" Back to my room. I wish. I sort of miss being alone in there.  
"I-I'm...a-am-am I in t-trou-trouble?" I don't like asking, because I know it sounds stupid, but what if I am? I flinch again at Dwight's laugh.  
"Trouble? Doubt you'd ever get in trouble, Doll. Negan like ya too much to punish ya for nothin. Why? You do somethin? Love to know, with you bein all 'follow every word he says' an all." That's the polite thing to do. Everyone follows everything he says. If they don't, they're in trouble. They get punished. It's not....WRONG to do it. But the way Dwight's smiling sort of hints at it not being good. I don't understand that.  
"Bu-but.....every-ev-everyone does whhhhhhat h-he says." If they don't, they get punished. He laughs again. By now, we're almost upstairs. Maybe six more to go, and Brownie is pulling quite hard at her leash trying to run ahead of us. And he isn't joking about the lights, either. It would be pitch black in here if it weren't for his flashlight.  
"Not like you, Doll. Not like you. Well, here we are." He stops just in front of my bedroom door, knocking on it twice. This hallway is pretty nicely lit up. Finally. No one else is in the hall but us. And it feels relieving that Negan isn't awake. The light isn't shining under the door. I'll just put Brownie to bed, and go back to sleep if I can. At least I'm not in trouble. That's the point here.  
"Th-thank you, D-dwwww-dwwwww- " Say his name. "Dwwwwi-wight. G-good night." Brownie is now sitting on my feet while panting. She's smiling, too. Doesn't seem worried or phased in the slightest. Of course not.  
"Anytime, Doll. Have a good night now." He sounds too happy sometimes. I hate saying that, simply because it's rude, but he sounds too happy.  
"N-night." Now just to get to sleep. Hopefully without waking Negan.Not too hard to accomplish, I don't think. The door is quiet to open. Or at least, it's silent now. I can hear him soring even befor eI ope the door. It's something that both helps me sleep, and hinders sometimes. It ust grates on my brain sometimes. Oh shit, I have to put B back in her room first. I let out a short but clipped breath and barely leave his door cracked before heading to mine. My door creaks when I open it. But that's because I want it to. I kind of forced it to creak, a bit. ot that it helps for warnings while I sleep, but it makes me feel more secure. It took me hours to figure out how to do it. "Go to sleep, B. I'll see you in the morning." I whisper as I take the leash off her coller. She looks up at me with big blue eyes and a smile on her face. Probably the happiest creature on the planet right now. I snap my fingers and point to her bed. She looks between me and the disheveled bed before looking back up at me. Her head tilts to the side and her mouth closes. Confusion. "Bed." I say it with more force, but remain just below a whisper. The word makes her look at her bed again, but she still dowsn't move. I snap my fingers again. THAT makes her move. She goes slow at first, like she's not sure about the comand, but then she runs and jumps onto the bed. "Good girl." I reward her with a horde of pets all down her back. It makes her lay down and roll onto her back. She's still so soft. Tiny. Defenseless at this age. It wouldn't take any time at all for her to be torn apart by the dead. They'd have her gone in seconds, most likely. The image of herlight brown fur, matted with blood and organs flows through my mind. Dirty, decomposing hands tearing into the flesh to devour it. No sense of the life they'd be taking. The innocence that would no longer exist in this world. "Stop." I whisper to myself. The thought of losing her right now almost pulls my chest as tight as when Negan glares at me. She's too good to die. She'll be fine. I sigh and stand back up, heading back to Negan's room. The door is still cracked, which is good. It hasn't moved at all. The snoring can be heard as well. Like walking on gravel, but an octave lower. Very rough sounding. Very loud. The sound fills the room as I very carefully close the door. The light from the area outside he room barely effects the room in any ay, but it always looks like it's bright enough to wake him. Once the door is closed, the room is black. All there is is the light form under the door. Barely enough see the path to the bed. IT's almost a heavy darkness. I quietly guide myself through the room to the bed, using the memory I have of the room to avoid obstacles on the floor. There's not much on the floor, as he likes the room clea, but a coulp things here and there. My backpack that I keep at the foot of the bed. Both of our shoes, which I almost trip on, but instead only kick a few inches. The sound nearly breaks the room in half, or that's what it feels like. I freeze where I am, all my muscles pulling tight. The snoring continues without interruption, but I wait a few very long seconds to be sure. Once I CAN move again, I have no issues getting to the bed. Next obstacle is getting on it without waking him. I very carefully distribute my weight so that the ed barely moves at all. Still, every movement feels exagerated enough to stir him from his sleep. None do, though. As soon as I settle on my side next to him, he wraps an arm around my waist and presses himself to my back. I freeze for a moment before allowing myself to relax Into it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, guys. I hate being late on anything, especially this kind of thing. But I'll be as steady as possible with updating on Sunday every week or every other week.


	27. Unknown threat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not fun not knowing things; Sorry it's been so long since the last update, life has been hectic. I'm going to try to continue to update as much as I can. Sta tuned, my dudes

"Fucking genius." I mumble to myself. The new guy, Eugene, has just.....given us a true gift. I mean I wish I would have thought of that. I've thought up a lot of things that could help one survive the apocolypse, but not this. This is..beautiful.   
Eugene, the new guy, is very strange. Or so I've heard. I haven't gone near him since he got here. Negan was amused as hell when he brought our newest addition back; Came back into his room laughing. Something about how Eugene communicates is strange. He's also just.....super smart? That's why Negan brought him back to us. He volunteered to come here. NEgan immediately gave him the royal treatment of 'have your pick of whatever the fuck'. I got that when he brought me back, too.   
Covering the dead in molten metal is just.....beautiful. Can't shoot them in the head, can't kill them. But I mean, they can't bite. That's the only downfall I can find in this plan. Apart from that, covering them in metal iss pretty good. That's what they're doing right now. Negan stopped watching awhile back, going inside to tend to something else. Some stupid private thing. Not that I truly care. I'm much too amused by this....genius.   
I just don't trust him one bit. Don't have to meet him to see that he's not to be trusted. He either left his people to spy for them, or he left them because he's that easily turned. I wouldn't trust him a fucking bit. He would leave us at the drop of a hat if things got bad. Useless in a fight, by the looks of him. He's almost as...nervous? Nervous as I am around everyone else. But in a different way. He looks at them like he doesn't understand them, not like they're about to hurt him. His fear seems to e more oriented around finding a place to fit. One things for sure: That man could not orchestrate some big escape plan. Couldn't lead for shit if he tried. Guaranteed.   
"Hey Evs." James's voice sounds from behind me. It elicites a flinch, but I believe he's becomming used to it.   
Or.....Actually he seems more troubled by it now. So the previous statement was a lie. Ever since I said no, or....reacted to being ABLE to say no, he's been a little.....I don't know. Definitely different in how he watches me now. But he doesn't act any different. That I'd be able to see. Because now Negan is acting weird But James just watches more. Before, he stared, but now, he watches. Like, almost observing. Trying to figure out why I'm doing it. Or something else. That's the most likely answer.   
"Hhhhhhey." I try not to look at him as much anymore. I don't like seeing people stare at me in any way. "This....hhhhes....." And it's harder to talk to him now. Like I can't think properly. NOT as if I liked him and he made it hard to think, but it's just hard to think because I know he's studying me now. I don't feel like a person anymore.   
"Woah. Okay I knew he was smart, but what crevice of his brain created this idea?" He leans over the yellow railing we're both standing by to see closer. He's fascinated by Eugene's creation. Obviously. And I look away from him before he can look at me.   
Before, I liked being around him. He was nice, and he didn't look at me like this. He looked at me weird, sure, but not like this. Now it's just hard to be around him. He doesn't know what happened, but it's still different. I just want to spend my time alone anymore, rather than trying to talk to him about anything. But he's...fucking always around. Not around ME, per say, but around. I can't seem to be alone anymore. Someone is always watching me. Or that's what it's beginning to feel like.   
Shake it off, Evelynne. You're fine. You're completely okay. If ayone hurts you, you can leave. You 're not going to be confined again. You don't have to stay here if you don't want to. BUt it's safe. And warm. No one here is hurting you. No one has even tried here. I shake my head and try to force myself to relax. As much as one can. Or. not as much as ONE can, but as much as I can. I can leave if I want to.   
"Seriously that shit's amazing. No biting, but maybe that's deter fucking anyone from getting in. Or trying. I wouldn't want to try. These people are crazy or something. Right? Id think we're crazy. I DO with this shit." He's grinning now. Can't see it, but he's grinning. No surprise, though. .He's a happy person. Don't leave, yet. He'll follow you if you leave. He isn't wrong about this making us all seem crazy. "Don't you think?" Shit he wants me to answer a question.   
"Mhm. Lit-lit-lit-" I sigh before just settling for a nod. Fuck talking.   
"Definitely crazy . You hear about Negan's new prisoner?" My head immediately flies up. New prisoner? I do not....  
"Wwwww- " I shake my head. When did he get a new one? What happened? Are we safe- is HE safe?  
"LAst night someone broke into the compund. Tried and succeeded in killing a few people. How do you never hear about htese things?"  
Someone broke in? People are dead? That's a good fucking question, James. How the fuck did I not hear about this? I mean, Negan left in the middle of the night, and didn't come back. I should have known something was wrong. I think I did, but at the time I didn't really register it. I need to find NEgan. He needs to be okay. When we lost people last time he was livid for days. And he refused to be nice to anyone in any way. Actually drank. Didn't really sleep. He's going to be hurt again this time. If he isn't already injured.   
"Evs, you okay?" Okay? ME?   
"Is Negan?" Negan better be okay. He better be more than fine. Not a scratch on him. I'm his GUARD. I should have been WITH HIM. I didn't know he was even in danger in here. No one would touch him in here. I should have known it wasn't safe for him here.   
"Negan? He's fine. He's fucking amused. Keeping the stupid bitch that broke in in a fucking closet. Cause he's sick like that." SHE IS ALIVE? He's keeping her in his closet? His CLOSET. But he's okay? What do I even focus on here? Why didn't he kill her? He should havekilled her. "Evs, are you okay?" Find him. MAke sure he's okay. Then figure out hy he won't kill the person that killed some of us.   
"I-I-" Find NEgan. Make sure he's okay.   
I turn around and start walking. It only begins as walking, for a few seconds before I start to run through the halls of the compound. I have to find him. The stupid compound is like a maze when you really need to get somewhere. All the stupid walls look the same. But I think I might know where he is. He could be in his office, or with Simon in HIS office. His place is his room, so that's only a few halls away from us. I go there first, then I go to Negan's office. He's fine. He'l be fine.


End file.
